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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29096061">Repeating History</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulousMe4333/pseuds/FabulousMe4333'>FabulousMe4333</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2020 L'Manberg Election on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, L’manberg, Pre-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Spoilers, Time Travel, alternative universe, interludes, king!technoblade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:49:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>63,866</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29096061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulousMe4333/pseuds/FabulousMe4333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“There’s only one way to revive Wilbur, and that is to prevent his death from the first place. And perhaps, with it, you can prevent l’Manberg’s downfall as well.”</p><p>Tommy and Tubbo travel back in time to revive Wilbur and even save l’Manberg. They were thrown back to the l'Manberg election, but instead having their citizenship revoked, Wilbur decides to disqualify Schlatt and Quackity’s coalition and win the election.</p><p>"We've tried democracy, we've tried helding an election. Now is the time for a new era, a new form of government, monarchy, and for a new leader, a new king. Long live king Technoblade."</p><p>In a world where Technoblade, instead of being an anarchist, became the king of l’Manberg. </p><p>Will history ‘repeat’ itself? Will they be able to change the past for the better, with the knowledge they have now? Or will it be even worse, with them trapped in a reality that is not their own?</p><p>*WARNING* Will include spoilers of  happenings all according to the actual events of the Dream SMP, all the way to Dream’s imprisonment. Includes the SBI family dynamic headcanon.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexis | Quackity &amp; Jschlatt &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo, Clay | Dream &amp; Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound &amp; Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; Jschlatt &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo, Clay | Dream &amp; Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, Eret &amp; Floris | Fundy &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit, Jschlatt &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; TommyInnit, Niki | Nihachu &amp; Sam | Awesamdude &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; Tommyinnit, No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>124</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>424</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue: Second Chances</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*WARNING* The following fanfic will include SPOILERS and mentions of past happenings all according to the actual events of the Dream SMP. You have been warned, viewers discretion is advised.</p><p>It must be reminded at all times that all names and characters mentioned will be referring to the Dream SMP!Characters being roleplayed, so no offence and botherings should be paid to the actual, amazing youtubers and streamers of the Dream SMP. </p><p>Also, this is an AU, so each character will have variations from their canon self. SLEEPY BOIS INC FAMILY DYNAMIC HEAD-CANNON will be included as well. </p><p>Enjoy the story!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“When the past becomes the present, you lose the future.” - Sissy Gavrilaki</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Tommy’s P.O.V</span>
</p><p>He paced back and forth in the halls, eyebrows furrowed. His steps echoed against the porcelain poles that stood high and tall in the prison. Awesamdude had his arms crossed, an expression solemn. A strange portal, one that simultaneously imitated the pathway to both the End and the Nether, swirled with such vibrant colours in front of them that, when stared at for too long, caused nausea. Tommy watched as an orange blob collapsed, folding into itself inward and becoming smaller, a blue tinge suffusing into it before expanding in tentacles as a red stain devoured both while a spat of purple emerged beside it. Hisses of unknown creatures whispered in forgein languages could be heard faintly when standing too close.</p><p>He eyed Tubbo, who stood beside him with pursed lips and was looking at the ground. He faced the creeper-skinned engineer again.“I- I don’t know man, it just feels like a lot of risk…”</p><p>“There’s only one way to revive Wilbur, and that is to prevent his death from the first place. And perhaps, with it, you can prevent l’Manberg’s downfall as well. Unless you don’t want to do that?” The same deep, grim yet steady voice almost irritated him. It sounds too monotone for the occasion, not a hint of excitement, or nervousness, or anything at all. “Look, I built this portal on your request, and let me tell you, it wasn’t easy. I understand the risks, probably better than anyone, so I understand your hesitance and will understand if you decide not to go.” </p><p>Arms thrown to his side Tommy took a step toward him, shouting. “I didn’t say that!” </p><p>“However, keeping the portal active for this long is very unstable. Messing with quantum mechanics and time travelling is not something you’ll want to get involved with, as well as the potential danger of world corruption, increased server glitches and time wormholes, and more. So I’ll need you to decide that NOW or NEVER.” Awesamdude narrowed his eyes. “Have I made myself clear?”</p><p>“Huh. No pressure.” Technoblade said, and Philza chuckled behind him. </p><p>Tommy grunted. “I just need one more second. Tubbo, what do you think? You… you’re coming with me, right?”</p><p>“If things go wrong… can we come back, Sam?” Blues eyes avoided his as Tubbo mumbled. </p><p>“According to my calculations, this is what should happen. Once you enter the portal, you should find yourself in the somewhat recent past, maybe back when Jschlatt ruled, with the memories you have of the present. You’ll basically be teleported into the bodies of your past selves and overriding whatever memory or thoughts they had. With knowledge of the future you can attempt to change the outcome of l’Manberg and prevent Wilbur’s death. However, if all goes wrong… the portal should be spawned where it is now but in the past. Re-entering the portal before you stayed in the past for six month should bring you back to the present and immediately destroying the portal should prevent time glitches, preventing the future from changing. That is, if my calculations are correct.” A hand on his chin as Sam responded, opening a blueprint with detailed fine prints scribbled upon messily. </p><p>“How many people can go through at a time? ‘Cause this whole sci-fi thing all sounds like free clout. The ‘voices’ are loving it.” Cut in Techno, he’s netherite armour a mesmerizing purple with his sword strapped firmly on his waist, pink hair pooling over the boar mask that never failed to strike fear in the hearts of his enemies.</p><p>Awesamdude frowned. “This is all still an experiment. Though we do have a reason to time travel, it’s all too risky to have any more than two people go through, as of now.”</p><p>Silence fell in the room. Tommy clenched his hands, his nest of blond hair flopping a little as he lowered his head. “I’ll do it. For l’Manberg and Wilbur. Tubbo, are you coming with me?”</p><p>A pause. “For l’Manberg.” Tubbo nodded towards him, and he grinned.</p><p>Techno sighed. “They just never learn.” He told Philza, turning and leaving the room with Philza following behind, one worried glance thrown behind him at them before letting the door close. Ignoring them, Tommy took a step closer to the portal, its whispers beckoning him. </p><p>“Alright. Here, a compass. It will lead you to the portal once you’re through it. Good luck… Remember, if all is lost, come back BEFORE three months, and everything will return to what it is now. Just don’t die.” Tommy barely heard Sam as he approached the portal, but he felt Tubbo behind him and so, not wanting to regret his decisions, clutching a round piece of metal and grabbing Tubbo by the wrist, he pulled them both into the swirling colours.</p><p>And for a moment he was floating, his vision blacking out. Someone called his name as he shouted for Tubbo. A blur of images that he soon recognized to be memories flash past, too fast to comprehend. Small particles carried him in a stream above oblivion and a vacant void. Consciousness melted into meaninglessness as time became senseless and his grasps of reality drifted away. He tried to find Tubbo, to cling onto anything, but the weightlessness was making his limbs hard to feel as his senses became numb.</p><p>Suddenly, pixels of colour in all hues from under him formed a figure in front of him, someone with their arms wide apart as if inviting for a hug. It slowly carved out a familiar, old, brownish coat. Brown hair, black beanie. The skirmish of imagination soon had a face, one that pulled both a mix feeling of happiness and dread  into his numbness. His eyes widened. </p><p>“Wilbur?” He tried to say, yet he made no sound. He found himself approaching towards the shadow, the ground giving away beneath him. ‘Wilbur’ looked more and more distant as his walk turned into a run, his run into a sprint, yet his arms were still wide open, patiently waiting for that hug. Breathless, he called out, “Wilbur!”</p><p>And he reached him, and he jumped into his arms. Yet the particles faded away, the figure melting away and like sand in a gust it slipped through his clenched fingers and was ripped away from him too fast for him to grasp into the air, for him to plead for it to stay.</p><p>Amidst his confusion he suddenly saw Technoblade and it was strange, strange because it seemed like he was seeing the future. Techno, who had just a moment ago, been at the prison, was now sitting comfortably in his cottage, a hand over his eyes. “Philza, what did I tell you? I- you know, I don’t even know why I went there after hearing the news. It was for the clout, I guess, but still.” It was impossible to decipher his tone but Techno’s  voice cracked a little as he laughed. “I’m just gonna come back to more dead brothers, man. And this time, this time I won’t even be there to see it.” He shook his head, unstrapping the boar mask and revealing a pair of tired, dark eyes. “They’re all buffoons, Phil. Each and every one of them. But in the end, I apparently betrayed them. It was all me. All my fault. How is this fair?” And Tommy watched this, his hands pushed onto a glass that separates him like the screen of a TV.</p><p>Philza opened a chest, its creaking so loud that one would have been distracted enough to miss a whisper breathed out by the pig in the crown, who sighed once more heavily. “I wish it would all go back to before.”</p><p>“I wish so too, Techno, I wish so too.” Philza said, and he gave Techno a sad smile.</p><p>And before he could even linger at the scenery, before Tommy could even register what was happening, he hit the ground hard. Or, more precisely, a chair.</p><p>He found himself tumbling into a chair, almost hitting his head on the hardwood plank. A hand rubbing his arm, which had slammed into the chair in the most awkward position, he looked around to try and find Tubbo, his head ringing as he recollected his memories. Right. They should be in the past now, right? </p><p>And booming above him all of a sudden, an echo of a voice he would never, ever wanted to hear again. And his thought was confirmed as he felt his blood run cold, as at the same time he met Tubbo’s eyes, who matched his own with panic, confusion, and more than anything, realization and terrible, terrible dread, as if the icy fingers of death had trailed his hand down his spine.</p><p>“Well, that was pretty easy.” Jschlatt announced, and Tommy raised his head to find the dead man in the flesh, standing above the podium long destroyed and grinning, with the smug of a villain, down at them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. What Changes, What Stays</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.” - Andy Warhol</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u"> Wilbur’s P.O.V </span>
</p><p>There were little people below them, only an audience of three with the majority of the buzz swarming the stage of the podium on top of which the candidates and representatives of each respective party stood. Jokes soon died down and with suspense a mist shrouding the air so thickly he almost choked, or perhaps it was only his own burning excitement, as he stuttered out the words, a hand through the fluff of his hair which curled down one side while the other hold shakily the piece of paper embedded on it the statistics that marked his solid victory. “Meaning, meaning-! That the winner of the popular vote, by 45%, is POG2020 led by me!” </p><p>Cheering engulfed his senses though Wilbur himself found that he couldn’t speak, couldn’t even react. It all felt too surreal, for as confident and certain as he was there had been a thread of doubt dangling his heart in the air that had, for that brief moment on the podium, ceased his breathing. That was all gone now, however, as he reassured Tommy who must have felt the same had waited for him to confirm it once more. “Tommy we won! We won-”</p><p>He needn’t say it twice as he was almost knocked away by Tommy’s shout, his voice as usual tinged with a touch of British accent. “Let’s go! Let’s go! We did it Wilbur we- We did it!” His face an emblem of pride and his blue eyes glimmering with triumph as a smile wider than he has ever seen stretched and widened. </p><p>Seeing that smile made something tingled in the back of his mind. Something stirred, bringing with it a draining, ominous sensation of dread that made him cold despite the beads of sweat damping his fingers and back. As if on cue, Wilbur felt a rough hand push him aside, the microphone slipped out of his hand and grabbed tightly in another’s, one that was darker in colour. “You’re missing something, Wilbur, but since you seemed to have forgotten, let me tell them.” He stumbled back a few steps and saw Tommy’s confused look thrown between him and Jschlatt. Large horns curled menacingly down the Jschlatt’s side as a wicked glint, the eyes of a villainous man, looked out into the audience with a victorious grin.</p><p>“Two nights ago, on the night of the election, after the announcement of Schlatt2020 and Coconut2020, Quackity made a deal with me, the leader of Schlatt2020, and he said that no matter what happened, Quackity would pool Swag2020 votes with Schlatt2020. Pog2020 got 45% of the popular vote meaning that the coalition government of me and Swag2020 got 46% of the votes.” Wilbur felt his face paling, a gulp down his throat.</p><p>He remembered the incident now, the conversation of the coalition, yet he had hoped, with fingers crossed, that it wouldn’t matter, that- Teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached slightly as he glared at Jschlatt, the man’s smirk so smug. A droplet of sweet rolled down his chin, dotting the floor as he felt the eyes glaring at him as well. “And that concludes, ladies and gentlemen, that on tuesday, the 22nd of September 2020, Schlatt2020 has been inaugurated! Isn’t that right, Wilbur, that from nowadays on, it’s President Schlatt and Vice President Quackity of l’Manberg?”</p><p>An expecting look was thrown at Wilbur as Jschlatt stepped aside, waiting gleefully for his response. All was silent for a heartbeat, all eyes staring at him, waiting, demanding an explanation, a confirmation.“Yah Wilbur, what do you say about that? You were there!” Quackity urged, shouting.</p><p>Tommy’s glance was one of concern and worry, the previous excitement gone, leaving behind only confusion.“W-what? What is he talking about, Wilbur?”</p><p>“I-... Schlatt’s right.” Those words themselves conjured a tart taste of rot at the back of his throat, an acid bitter venom at the tip of his tongue. Gasps sounded. </p><p>Wilbur dodged Tommy’s eyes, biting his lips as he stared at the wooden floor. “Wilbur w-what-” Tommy said, furrowed brows and curled hands by his side.</p><p>“You heard him folks. Oh and Tommy, Wilbur?” The man leaned in closely, a whisper hushed out like a threat yet one could taste the smugness in his voice. “Get off <b>my</b> podium. It’s time for my inauguration speech.” </p><p>Quackity shouted, “Yah you go tell them big man!”</p><p>Jshlatt turned, tapped his mic and allowed his voice to echo, booming down to the audience, which was still in shock. “Well, that was pretty easy. And you know what I said, the day I got unbanned from the DreamSMP, and the day I said I was running... an election that I won by the way? I said; ‘Things are gonna change’. I looked every citizen of L'Manberg in the eyes and I said; ‘You listen to me... this place will be a lot different tomorrow.’”</p><p>Wilbur willed himself to move, to drag his feet that felt weighted and clumsy, to go down the steps as some people cheered and others clapped. A disheartened look ghosted with shock remained on Tommy’s face as he followed along.</p><p>“Let’s start making it happen. My first decree, as the president of L'Manberg- the EMPEROR! -of this great country-!” Those words stung. President of L’Manberg was a title that should’ve been his and his alone. </p><p>They’ve come so far. Wilbur eyed the people around him. Tommy. Tubbo. Fundy. He glanced at the wall that they built with their own fair hands, through the rain and the wind and the snow, the wall that protected the nation which clothed and fed and rocked them to sleep and played and sang and was good to them. </p><p>“-is to REVOKE the citizenship of WilburSoot, and TommyInnit!”</p><p>He remembered the rain of flaming arrows, remembered the thundering booms shaking the ground as l’Manburg went up in smithereens and explosions, remembered the words of a traitor who they once considered a friend as blood splattered and drained into crimson soil and shouts were buried underneath clashes of blades.</p><p>“Until further notice... WilburSoot and TommyInnit are merely a memory of L'Manberg. A relic- A relic of the past. A reminder, of the darkest era this country has ever seen- and I guarantee you all; dear citizens... Tonight, that changes. We are entering into a new period of L'Mangerg- a period of prosperity! of strength! of unity.”</p><p>He didn’t realize what he was doing, amidst the gasps and the pushing and shoving, amidst the arrows that gazed at his shoulders and hair. Run, he wanted, should’ve been shouting to Tommy whose eyes were wide and mouth agape though the boy himself was rooted to the ground. Yet he paid no heed to the blond child, no heed to the cries erupting around him, crowding him, shrouding his mind. </p><p>His lips a thin sealed line, his eyes sharp and burning red and hot as he stepped up the podium once more, and pushing the bearded goat man aside. “No. You know what Schlatt, no. Your coalition with Quackity has been disqualified.” There was only a hint of panic, a hint of confusion and shock, yet it smeared Jschlatt’s face of glee and confidence into one that widened Wilbur’s inside grin. </p><p>A small voice whispered, at the edge of the pumping adrenaline and a mere fraction of rationality called to him, warning him as he paused. The people wouldn’t like this. A tyrant and a dictator, they would call him, a villain. </p><p>But it didn’t matter now, nothing did. No one was going to rule the country he founded from dirt and dust, he built from brick to brick, he fought through tears and blood, no one but him or at least, his family He threw a glance at the l’Manberg flag, its colour vibrant and soaring high above the skies.</p><p>He heard a chair being knocked down, saw out of the corner of his eyes Tommy standing up, a fist in the sky before he continued, eyes pinned and hands holding the coat of his arrogant opponent.“That means I’m the president, the EMPEROR, like you said, of the nation I founded, created, and carried upward. No, Schlatt, you, you and Quackity will be the ones whose citizenship will be revoked!” <br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span class="u">Philza’s P.O.V</span>
</p><p>He hummed a soft tune as he swiped the table, preparing dinner. A brown bird chirped to his croon as it pitched onto a nearby branch, before plucking at the closed window. He gave it a smiling glance and walked over, inviting the little creature in as he pushed open the window, allowing a puff of fresh air to greet his face. His sleeves draped over the wooden frame as he stared out to the woods, at the faint fog clinging to the forested ground several tree rows in, the fading sunset refracting in the suspended moisture to set it aglow accompanied by a clean scent with hints of nightly chills. </p><p>“Techno should be back soon. He’s harvesting the few remains of his potatoes.” Philza told the bird. It tilts its brown head curiously, small dark eyes glinting as if holding secrets.</p><p>The bird reminded him of a certain boy, Philza decided, studying the sparrow’s silky feathers and twirling a fallen one between his hands. Of a boy in a cap, whose own coffee hair a puff swiped to the left, covering a little his eyebrows. Of a boy that was tall and a little thin, a boy ambitious and passionate about things he cared for, if not occasionally going too far.</p><p>Around him there would always be two other blond heads, chittering and chatting, laughing and playing like children that would never grow up. Philza recalled Tommy’s threads of swears, of Tubbo’s mumbled words and like of bees, of Wilbur’s just a little, a tiny bit absurd ideas of leaving, of building a country.</p><p>It had been a long while since the three of them moved away, closer and deeper to the centre of the Dream SMP, a long while since the once crammed house grew unusually still and  almost unbearably silent. They left, and with the Potato Wars, Techno was often outside, leaving Phil only the company of the crackling fireplace, its flickering shadows dancing upon the walls. </p><p>It was then that Philza caught his eyes on the small scroll of paper tied to the sparrow, who was still perched on the window, patiently waiting and watching. </p><p>A small grin widened as he unscrolled the tiny slip. Writing letters was how they talked over the long fields, for trips and visits in the overworld were difficult and long, while the nether was neither pleasant nor safe. They usually used the mail though. Phil has caught himself staring long hours at the mailbox, waiting for the feeling of rough fiber underneath his fingers and the gentle rustling of paper filling in the room. </p><p>His eyes darted across the lines, and the faint smile quickly twitched into a small frown as eyebrows curved and knitted together. The letter was clutched a little tighter, his hands shaking a little more, before he folded it back heaving a long, heavy sigh as he leaned onto the window somewhat heavily, eyes closed. </p><p>“Phil, what’s wrong?” He opened his eyes to see the long strands of vibrant pink hair draping over a concerned look. Techno...</p><p>Phil bit his lips. “Your brothers and their country are in trouble.”</p><p>“What happened?” Technoblade asked nonchalantly, his worry disappearing as if the new was not a surprise. “It takes two to tango. Who are they in trouble with?” He flapped his pig ears in the air lazily, dropping a basket of potato on the kitchen counter and beginning to peel one.</p><p>Philza stared blankly, closing the window from where the bird had long flown away. “Someone called… Jschlatt. And… Quackity. They almost got kicked out.”</p><p>“Isn’t that a good thing? You’ve always wanted them to come back and live with us again, and they probably would have no choice but to, if they were kicked out.” Techno said, not looking up. The sound of a blade cutting swiftly into the potato filled the room as stripes of potato skin dropped down. “Heh. Imagine being exiled from their own country. Couldn’t be me.”</p><p>Phil chuckled a little before shaking his head. “Well, they almost did, but they weren’t. It doesn’t matter, either way.”</p><p>Techno dropped the potato to look at him in the eyes, placing both hands on Phil’s shoulders.  “Then why, Phil, do you look so stressed out? They got in trouble before, they will sort themselves out.” His boar skull was off, strapped to a hook by the door, like it was when Techno’s at home with no visitors. Without the somewhat intimidating mask, though Phil had long gotten used to it, one could see just a little too clearly those dark eyes clouded with a hint of confusion and annoyance but mostly concern, and it was almost too intense to be underneath those eyes for long.</p><p>“The five of us will live together again.” Philza blurted. Techno let go, his eyes widening.</p><p>“Wait really?” Techno stepped back. “When are they coming back?”</p><p>Philza squeezed a smile, turning away. “They are not.”</p><p>“Then how are we going to-...”</p><p>Phil folded his dark wings back, shifting them a little underneath his cloak. “We’re going to them.”</p><p>There was a heartbeat of silence.“But why? Why so suddenly? My potatoes…” Phil laughed at that, though he knew there were more to it than potatoes. “And why us? What do they need us for?”</p><p>“They don’t need me, not exactly. They need you. And at that, they need you to be the king of their country. The King, of l’Manberg.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So the backstory of Techno before the Election was him and Phil living peacefully in their snowy cottage and Techno having some potatoes wars. Wilbur, Tubbo and Tommy use to live with them, but they moved out to found l’Manberg.</p><p>Also Techno looks like his typical self, basically A Channel Without A Name’s drawing style: boar mask, long pink hair, pig years, king’s robe.</p><p>Also also, the line indicates time skip, so it wasn’t one event immediately following another.</p><p>Thanks for reading, comment plz...? &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Brotherly Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Worrying does not take away tomorrow’s troubles; it takes away today’s peace.” - Jason Chatfield</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Technoblade’s P.O.V</span>
</p><p>He casted one last, almost longing glance at the cottage in the snowy woods. It had withstood many hammering and bickering of wind, of rain and of snow, and had withstood the lousy energy of five children and their plays in old days. It had nurtured memories, taught lessons, and cached secrets. And now, it was possibly the last time he was ever going to see it again. </p><p>He turned and didn’t look back, carrying the big and small packages that stored their belongings. Phil had already strolled away in front of him in a higher spirit than yesterday, their steps marked in the snow in boot prints as light flutters melted on their clothing. </p><p>Techno stared blankly into the distance, the absentminded, automatic action of  following Philza, which was only a blue blur in his peripheral vision, slipped his mind as he dragged his feet behind him, puffs of breath visible in front of him.</p><p>A King. “You’ve always liked to dress in a king’s robe and with a crown. How about you become one?” Techno had narrowed his eyes at Phil’s words. Being a king was a lot different from just dressing up as one. He had read books, stories and tales, of kings and their rules, and each had not made the position any more appealing. He desired not the respect, power, or the wealth of a king, for he was content with bullying the Squid Kid with potatoes, and knew of the inevitable burden of the responsibility that came with the supposed benefits. It all sounded like a headache, not being able to roam free and do as he pleased. </p><p>His thoughts were temporarily interrupted as he heard a disturbing growl and fast steps. “Phil watch out!” A baby zombie was slayed with one swift swing of his netherite blade as immediately he jumped in front of Phil, who staggered back and laughed, his face red from the cold. </p><p>They continued on. Blankly he acknowledges his surroundings as he stepped through the nether portal and reappeared on the other side, a hellish world of lava and demons. The floor was a burning red radiating slight heat, and cautiously the two travellers slipped past all kinds of creatures, careful not to provoke any of them.</p><p>He had little doubt that he’d be a bad king. However, as to how enjoyable the experience will be, he was less certain and optimistic. Still, he had agreed, for his brothers had asked for help. He had agreed, for he knew Philza had missed the three buffoons out there far away building a country, and that he would be happier. He had agreed, for he hadn’t seen the heads of messy hair and heard the loud buzz of shouting of siblings for a long time, and realized this made for a nice excuse to get that. It was a shortsighted, almost irrational goal, but Philza had written the letter back quickly, leaving him no time to regret or withdraw before sending it off. Phil’s smile though, a bright, sunny grin wider than what Techno has seen since the house grew quiet, made him almost feel like he had done the right thing.</p><p>The portal to the Dream SMP had man-made paths and bridges stretching far and wide, though they all lead back to one place, the core of the server, the busiest places of all where Techno had heard was where drama concentrated and power was displaced, torn and ripped away from one individual to the next, where blood was shed over meaningless plastic that once hold a simple meaning of just playing music in a jukebox. </p><p>It doesn’t matter now. It was too late to turn back. He catches Philza, who as if reading his thoughts gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.</p><p>“Thank you for agreeing, Techno. I’m sure your brothers will thank you tenfold.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">Tubbo’s P.O.V</span>
</p><p>Tubbo took in the castle with wide eyes. Its walls strong and thick with a touch of medieval air, it stood high enough to touch the sky with its five towers and could fit more than five bedrooms, armoury rooms, dining rooms. Lavishly it was decorated with silk wall hanging and marble poles, tall windows of patterns and designs of those in churches. Somehow the building, which had taken the construction of many days, had fit within the l’Manberg walls which Tubbo grazed with the back of his hands, remembering how he himself had helped taking it down with a gulp of guilt. In one of the rooms, unmoved, was the van where it all started, which he had seen Tommy look fondly at. </p><p>It all brought so much memory, good and bad, and Tubbo felt he could reminisce for days, just exploring the place and taking in the air that had yet to be tainted by gunpowder, feel the soft grass that had yet to be smudged with crimson blood, rest on the solid ground where pits had yet to appear, and just grasp every moment he can here in a place he had called home. And looking up now always brought a smile, as anyone from miles could see the vibrant flag soaring above them, the flag of l’Manberg. </p><p>“Wilbur shouldn’t- Shouldn’t we take a moment before…? I mean, you know, I don’t think Techno was ever a fan of the government…” Tommy stepped toward Wilbur, his loud voice interrupting Tubbo’s thoughts as it echoed in the corridor which was the entrance to the castle.</p><p>“It has been already decided, Tommy. He already agreed, and he will be here any second. ” Wilbur told them before turning away. Tubbo had almost forgotten what Wilbur had sounded, a little harsher but a little more lively than his ghost self, his eyes burning with a passion and ambition that made Ghostbur’s eyes look hollow and empty. His l’Manberg uniform gave a neat, formal shine to his persona and Tubbo decided that it looked good on him, better than the greasy brown jacket or the yellow, simple sweater.</p><p>Tommy crossed his arm, whispering to him. “I almost forgot what a prick he was.” Tubbo chuckled.</p><p>“Tubbo, I can’t believe what happened.We didn’t physically DO anything. Yet it changed, Tubbo, it changed, just by our presence. It’s as if they sensed that we know more now.” Tommy waved his arms in the air, gesturing expressively, though he had lowered his usually loud voice. “We… we might’ve done it, Tubbo! Jschlatt’s not president, so… maybe we’ve done it. Maybe Wilbur won’t and l’Manberg won’t…!” Tubbo nodded.</p><p>He remembered the ringing pain of his head as he blinked, as his vision, disoriented from passing through the portal, saw the podium. Immediately came a dizziness that caused him to support his body with his seat, cold sweat and icy fingers grasping onto consciousness. The scenes of his own execution flashed before his eyes as they widened as every word of Jschlatt was etched once more into his mind like a nightmare relived. The ground hadn’t even ceased spinning and his footing was still unbalanced from the time travelling as the crowd started shouting, as Tommy and Wilbur’s citizenship were revoked on the spot, as history repeated itself right before his eyes. </p><p>He was frozen to the ground, whether out of fear or from time trying to stop them from changing the past, his throat dry and his eyes wide. Tubbo had tried to reach for Tommy, to find his friend’s face one mirroring his own in panic. Helpless, they were, to prevent anything. What was the point of travelling back in time only to have the same thing repeat, to relive a nightmare to real to be true? </p><p>But something had changed, and a heartbeat was all it took. Wilbur regained control, regained the confidence which Tubbo had admired him for, the confidence of a leader, of an ambitious president, and changed everything for them. Little did Wilbur know what impact he just may have had on history and the future, as well as the ending of l’Manberg.</p><p>Tubbo shook himself back to the present. Tommy was staring through the windows, looking towards the van. “And that’s what I thought, before he went ahead and called up Techno. It’s just that… I don’t know if this is better now.” He shook his head frustratingly, “Technoblade is even more of a prick than Wilbur.” </p><p>Tubbo couldn’t help but look around him again, his eyes glistening with awe. “I know, but let’s just see what we can do.” He flashed a smile to Tommy, but it wasn’t returned, for Tommy was still too busy looking outside, a hint of melancholy and nostalgia circling his blue pupils.</p><p>Tubbo glanced back at the place Wilbur was last at. He liked the idea of not being in charge for once, and has forgotten how free it felt to have no responsibility, to let the older others handle everything and just follow their words. The few years of presidency has worn him down, weighed him down like an anvil, and so he envied little of the power or the title Techno was suddenly being handed. He looked forward to acting like the young child he still was, of goofing around with bees and laughing together with Tommy like the old times. </p><p>To forget, for a moment, the reason they’re here, and just appreciate how good it was before. With that thought, he frowned a little at Tommy’s still furrowed brows. He couldn’t help but feel Tommy has changed a little too much since when the election in their world happened, the silliness and shouts of goofy profanities having almost completely vanished. Tommy was more mature now, perhaps, but a little selfishly the prospect did not delight him.</p><p>“You know how Jschlatt and Quackity are all jailed up right now right? I wonder what Wilbur will do with them. Or more likely, what Techno will.” Lips pursed, Tommy put a hand to his chin after saying. Tubbo could only stare, studying his best friend keenly. Tommy had always worn the l’Manberg uniform proudly, though he complained about its tightness to Tubbo before. His eyes dulled a little, his hands rougher. His shouts and words are still touched with his British accent. At least that hadn’t changed.</p><p>When did the boy change, anyways? Was it after the Revolution? Was it from his exile? The very idea made Tubbo’s stomach turn, the reminder a tart taste or rot in the back of his throat. The exile…</p><p>Everything will be fine, Tubbo told himself, and just as he was going to tell Tommy the same, a large bell rang and a knock thumped against the door. </p><p>They both turned and waited. Wilbur pushed through them to approach the door. </p><p>They’ve arrived.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">Wilbur’s P.O.V</span>
</p><p>Wilbur turned to find them standing there, and one could feel an air of awkwardness separating them. Philza had looked the same, blond strands of hair underneath his cap Ana’s black wings were folded carefully underneath his robe so as to not block anyone. Techno, too, had little changes. He looked a little taller, a little more tired, pink hair messily tied together to avoid them drooling over his vision. A boar mask hid his expression, its husk reaching outward menacingly and its eyes sockets seemingly hollow and lifeless. His pig ears flopped about casually, however, and one could see a faint smile underneath it all.</p><p>“Hallo nerds.” Techno said. While Tommy and Tubbo had frozen beside him, Wilbur had stepped up, arms outstretched, and hugged both of them as chuckles shattered the awkwardness. A hand ruffled his hair as out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Tommy and Tubbo approaching as well. </p><p>“This is weird.” He heard Tommy whisper to Tubbo, though he didn’t quite understand why he said so. Tommy has been acting slightly off after the election. It was as if he knew more now, understood more than just a couple of days before Jschlatt and Quackity’s exile. It was strange, but Wilbur has waved it off at the moment. There were more important matters to be focused on.</p><p>“How was the trip?” After they’ve warmed up, and are now sitting at the dining section of the masterpiece of a castle, Wilbur asked, a hand through his hair to unveil his other eye.</p><p>The bags they had brought with them had been dropped off in each bedroom, and they mustn’t have been light, for without them he could see how Techno hunched his shoulders, messaging them slightly. Philza answered sminglingly, “It was alright. A far trip, but alright. This castle, on the other hand, is quite worth mentioning. You never told me about it in the letters... Did you just build this?”</p><p>Wilbur noticed that Techno, too, was looking around slightly bewildered, though he was subtle and hid it well. “Yah. We built this just recently. It is to prepare for the inauguration. A king has to have three things, after all. A kingdom, a castle, a crown. We haven’t got that many citizens yet though, beside us and Fundy, the four founders.”</p><p>“Nice.” Techno tensed just slightly at the word ‘king’, a small stiffening of his back before venturing. “Well, when will the inauguration be?” </p><p>“It will be in two days.” A clock ticked behind them. Techno simply nodded.</p><p>The concept of being ruled by someone else never pleased him. It was a country he built and founded. Naturally, he should be the one that rules it. That should’ve been common sense. Yet Quackity sparked a nonsense ideal in the minds of l’Manberg denizens that fueled their trivial discontent and gave them a name they fight in. </p><p>Now, they won’t accept him. They bought the words of democracy, ate the promises of just and fairness. Just like he had thought, they called him a tyrant, and after Schlatt’s dethronement, he was bombarded with so much discontent and verbal riots that to compromise, he proposed a different form of government, one that perhaps they could try for a change. One that included a sovereign head of state, a ruler whose position is typically given to the eldest of the sons of the family in administration. And to make it all fair, another vote was casted, and it was decided, and the people calmed with their insults and shallow frustration. </p><p>While Jschlatt and Quackity were thrown into the castle’s dungeon, located in the basement, Wilbur had been thinking of ways to silently deal with his political enemies. A justified, private method, one that will get rid of them before anyone would even notice it, and therefore they wouldn’t be able question it or stop it. Ultimately, he supposed, it was up to the next king. King Technoblade.</p><p>Just like how it was with Jschlatt, the thought struck him bitterly. The position of power had, once again, been handed to someone else, and he was, this time, completely helpless to stop it. </p><p>He would just have to wait, he thought, as he stared at Techno whose glance had traveled to the scenery outside the large windows. Thinking this, a smile back on his face to replace a frown he didn’t even notice appeared, he sat up. “Enough of sitting down! Let me show you around the castle and give a little tour of this masterpiece!”</p><p>As they travelled through long halls a list of different rooms were shown. The furniture was conspicuous, the fabrics on the upholstered chairs and sofa thick and luxurious, the legs of tables and chairs slender and curved, with small carved decorations at the foot. The bed, in an alcove at the far end of each bedroom, was all draped with a splendid cloth embroidered over its entire surface with intricate designs. The armoury room was piled with chests, though they were all somewhat empty, and for now, the small and big packages of Techno and Philza. An alchemy room was set up, and an experience farm is just under construction. Many rooms were left blank for the newcomers to decide, to design and to determine its function and use. </p><p>“The building of the castle were all led by Awesamdude, a loyal friend of l’Manberg.” Wilbur said as gasps and wows sounded behind them. Some of the things were even new to Tommy and Tubbo himself. </p><p>Finally, keeping the best for the last, he pushed through two large doors adorned with delicate vines carved into the wood. Through it came a room whose walls were completely lined with filled bookcases from floor to ceiling. Enchantment tables as well as comfy chairs were littered about the space, while all was circled with hundreds, perhaps thousands of books, their titles embossed in shiny letters. Wilbur stole a glance at Techno, who had held his usual, indifferent and unsurprised expression for almost the entirety of the tour, the pig’s eyes now wide with the wonder of a child. </p><p>“This one room is better than the homes of all those orphans I stole presents from,” Techno said, departing from the group to brush covers and hear the flipping of the pages of the books. Everyone laughed, and so did Wilbur, though he was only staring at the golden, glimmering crown.</p><p>He would just have to wait indeed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for all the kudos and feel free to comment below!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Long Live the King</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“A crown of roses is also a crown of thorns.” - Gilbert K. Chesterton</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Wilbur’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He held a hand in front of his eyes to look over the land that spread far and wide, to look over the walls which he had built with his brothers brick for brick, to look over the country he had founded and grew into an independent nation. A sense of satisfaction came from standing on the podium again, the mic in front of him and the audience, Niki, Ponk, Fundy, and others, waiting for him to speak. Yet at the same time, an irritating itch came from the thought that he would be walking away from the podium without a crown, stepping down again to let someone else rise to power.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Behind him, he knew, were a buzz of shouts and cries to add the final touches for the ceremony. Taking a peak behind him he found the king for which this ceremony was for giving him a funny look. Techno had on a white silk blouse well adorned with golden embroidery, an elegant cravat pinned onto the neck with a crimson ruby, and on his shoulders draped a mantle of red lined with fur. Long strands of pink hair groomed and braided, and on top of them was what completed the lavish display, rid of his former coronet was a crown of pure gold, embellished and weaved with only the most intricate designs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How are you feeling, your majesty?” Wilbur teased, ignoring the tingling heat that washed over him upon saying the last two words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno blinked before grunting, his expression hidden safely underneath his boar mask, which he was requested to take off only for brief moments at the end of the speech. “I- You know how they have wagyu meat in Japan where the animal from where the meat is from has a very luxurious life before their processing? Yah, that’s what I feel. I feel like that wagyu pork. And please, don’t call me that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur chuckled, joined in by Philza and Tommy which were beside them. A horn suddenly sounded, interrupting them, and Wilbur knew it was time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand no longer shook like last time as he grasped the paper, his speech spoken from the heart. Eyes sharp and looking down confidently to the crowd, he cleared his throat before beginning. “Just a few days ago was our election, the first for l’Manberg. But it didn’t work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He paused, as if daring someone to say otherwise, to correct him of his statement. His glare was so unwavering, his tone stern and bleak, that no one spoke against his words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He continued. “</span>
  <span>We, l’Manberg, have tried democracy.We’ve tried helding an election.” The audience was a deadly silence, for although Phil’s arrival had faded the suspense and tainted the supposedly secret decision with many close speculations and hunches, they still held their breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now is the time for a new era, a new form of government, monarchy, and for a new leader, a new king.” Wilbur stepped back, allowing Techno to emerge from behind him to face the people below, who as of tradition, dutifully erupted with cheers and claps. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Long live king Technoblade.” Wilbur concluded, smiling a thin, tart smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Dream’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grazed the red, rough bricks of the Community House, baked warm underneath the gentle sunlight with the back of one hand covered in fingerless gloves, before entering through the door. A chest was opened, a hoarse creek disrupting the calm afternoon which was silent beside the distant chirps of birds. Selecting special items and dropping them from his inventory into the brewing stand, he looked behind and around him to make sure no one was there to hear the bubbling of potions and the gust of smoke which slipped out of bottles quickly filling up with fluids of all colour and taste. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another dip, and he filled three more bottles with water. A burnt scent was beginning to fill the room, his boots tripped about the crafting table floor busily. A black wither skull was crushed into dark powder, a ghast tear and magma cream smelt into a strange ore. Blaze rods and rotten flesh were grinded with a mortar and pestle into a fine paste as all were stirred in a bowl before brewed into a potion. He only paused when he caught his own reflection in the cauldron, the stoic, plain smile smudged across his ceramic mask staring, grinning back at him almost menacingly, before carrying on, unsure why he hesitated like he did. Bright green sleeves rolled up to his forearm moved quickly, the steps and ingredients carefully written with inky scribbles on a worn, yellow scroll curling near the edge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The product was a black goo, one that had radiated a dangerous heat and a sour smell before he sprinkled the bits and pieces of an enchanted golden apple into the mix, transforming the fluids into a tasteless, odourless bottle of fluid. Twirling it in front of him he watched the liquid lick the edges of the bottle as he twirled it, mixing evenly the substances before caching it into his pocket. He turned to clean up, opening the windows to smell a bit of air fresh and away from the scent of alchemical substances. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was then he heard them, a muffled, distant shout he could barely make out yet the voice was familiar, and with it he froze, his head tilting slightly to catch the conversation. “They what?!” Whoever it was shouted, and Dream realized it came from outside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone else, a second person, hushed an indecipherable response. Dream edged closer to the door, hands on the glass lining walls of the Community house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does Dream know about this?” The first inquired, and his curiosity peaked. Yet the answer to the question was never heard, for before Dream could take a step outside and announce his presence, the door slammed open in his face and Sapnap ran in, breathless. Dream was sent stumbling back a step, before regaining balance and staring at his friend expectantly with an eyebrow raised.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Inauguration of King Technoblade.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An empty glass bottle, one that Dream was holding while trying the clean up, shattered as it was dropped onto the floor, its pieces a glistening diamond underneath the sun as it splat across the floor. Sapnap winced, yet Dream didn’t even flinch, his hands a fist, his eyes narrowed and his teeth clenched before bursting out of the room without another word and down the prime path.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream was well informed about the election. It was silly to him, but he was pleased to see the crack, the division that existed within l’Manberg demonstrated so perfectly. Ideals are failing, and with it l’Manberg was weak, for a house divided can not stand. It was amusing to watch its people struggle and fight for the seat of power, when in reality they are blind to the fact that they have little power, little choice at all. It was a show more entertaining without his involvement, and so he only instigated conflict from the sidelines, endorsing Jschlatt and Quackity coalition and encouraging them to oppose Wilbur’s party. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, he knew nevertheless, that in the end, in whatever different shapes and forms, in whatever different ways and with different methods, with whatever different names, it has always been about the discs. Cat and Mellohi, the symbols of the resistance of all those who went against him, the token of power that is only given to inanimate objects because people cared and found the simple music discs important. It had always been about power. The owner of the discs was only fit to be the ruler of the SMP, and likewise, the ruler of the SMP must be the owner of the discs, of complete power and control. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t always like this. Dream remembered simpler times. He remembered the first days, where splashing around in a stream and cooking fish was a luxurious way to spend one’s day. “We’re embarking on a new journey here.” George had said on the first day, and they had innocently looked about the world and realized that the Dream Team SMP was as far as eyes could see, and the two had goofed around with laughs and wheezes before inviting Sapnap to join their adventures. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now the Dream SMP was a faction, its previous, free and wild lands scarred with hierarchies and wars, drenched with the blood and tears, angry shouts and cries of betrayals and hisses of TNT, bruised with arrows and clashing of blades replacing the sing songs of spring birds and giggles of friends, the peace and harmony of the land that Dream had no intention of making it his. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been everyone’s land. It had been free. Dream liked it, and was only there to keep it that way, so he established some loose rules, reinforced some minor chastisement. There had been no battle of power because there was no power at all, no hierarchy, no wars, no sides, no nothing. Things only had power when you gave it power, Dream soon learned, and gave it power Tommy did, rising conflicts, pushing lines and boundaries, allying with Tubbo to go against him with such absurd accusations that it mortified Dream and angered him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But all ends were tied after the Disc Saga. Dream had won and matters had been dealt with. The relaxed, chill atmosphere of the SMP had returned, and so did the laughters as the SMP enjoyed the company of more and more people, whom Dream himself had been more than glad to invite and welcome. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then there was Wilbur, along with Tommy and Tubbo. There was Fundy. There was Eret. And there was l’Manburg. And Dream hated it the minute he was informed of even the slightest hint of the ideology on which it was built, the minute he set his eyes on the walls isolating a part of the SMP, of a new nation, an </span>
  <b>independent</b>
  <span> nation called l’Manburg. And so he confronted Wilbur, the supposedly leader of this idea that, had it not been proven to be completely serious with the walls and buildings and the people, he would have mocked and laughed over a good time. And so he was told by Wilbur himself, and heard first-person a famous quote. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Independence, or death. If we get no revolution, then we want nothing. We would rather die than give in to you and join your SMP.” He had heard the leader utter those words solemnly, though all he could see was behind Wilbur, Tommy’s smirk, that mere child’s eyes glistening with an air of arrogance and smug that it ignited all patience and willingness in Dream to sort things out peacefully, to negotiated and talk it out. They had asked for it themselves, for death to be bestowed upon them because l’Manburg independence, and he had swore this to himself, will never, ever be recognized.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy! And Wilbur, and the rest of... L'Manchildburg. We... are at war. There is no mercy. We have burnt down Tubbo's house, we have planted TNT-cannons around your land, we have cobblestone-walled the outside, and we have shot ONE warning shot inside your walls. We have NO MERCY! NO MERCY FOR YOU! We will BURN DOWN your houses, we will KILL everything inside your walls, and we will TAKE BACK the land that is rightfully ours, if you do not surrender. I wanna see WHITE FLAGS! WHITE FLAGS, OUTSIDE YOUR BASE, BY TOMORROW, AT DAWN, OR YOU ARE DEAD!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet he didn’t fail to catch the idea hinted behind Wilbur’s words, which seemed to have been chosen carefully and phrased in such a way that left no doubt in Dream’s mind what they’re trying to sell. There was that word again, words that should’ve never mattered in a land so free and big it seemed enough for everyone. They had called it </span>
  <b>his</b>
  <span> SMP. They had called it </span>
  <b>giving in</b>
  <span> to him, as if he was a dictator, a ruler. As if he was powerful. The idea never struck him as true at the time, yet it irritated him to the skin of his teeth. If they so begged for a King, if it’s a villain to their little fairy tale that they want so badly, then a King he shall deliver, and a nation along with all its hopes and dreams he shall crush if it meant restoring the true freedom to the SMP, a world that was meant to be free not of him, but of power, of division, and of chaos that was sure to ensue along with them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, George. Everything the light touches is our kingdom. A king’s time as a ruler rises and falls like the sun. One day, George, the sun will set, and my time here will rise with you… as the new King.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret, as Dream saw it, was fitting of the position as the King for his good deeds, for without him he wouldn’t have seen the hope drained from the l’Manburg’s founders eyes, wouldn’t have tasted the despair and desperation in their cries of anger and agony, wouldn’t have felt </span>
  <b>power</b>
  <span>, so very bittersweet, for the first time, when Tommy died to their duel, when he clutch the discs in his hands with a raw sense of duty and superiority coursing through his veins knowing that he had control over Tommy and everyone the little rebel cared about, knowing that with two simple items he had power over l’Manburg, no, over the entire Dream SMP. Eret deserved to be awarded, and Tommy and his silly l’Manburg? They will stay and they will suffer, cause as long as Dream had the discs, everything was going his way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They wanted independence, right? They will have to trade it with freedom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet his plans were once again disrupted, when he lost one of the discs to Tommy and left the other disc to Skeppy. Now this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To declare someone the King of l’Manberg, it was akin to a mockery to the title of the King of the Dream SMP, and it irritated him, the mere thought agitating a crawling sensation underneath his skin as anger bubbled slowly up his throat. His netherite armour on and his maxed out axe Nightmare in hand, a cloud of dust arose as he halted in front of the stadium, behind the seated people and he looked up, the mere motion frustrating to him. He narrowed his eyes at the crown, the jewels embedded onto the pure gold glistening underneath the sun. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His glare was caught by Tommy, who’s surprise was quickly transformed into a gloating grin. Behind Techno the blond british child shouted down to him, “Dream, I hate to say it to you…actually I’d love to say it to you, but there’s one thing I have that you’ll never ever ever have. I have the Blade.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few people cheered at the shout as some people moved farther away from him, acknowledging his presence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face grew a little red. For a fraction of a second, Dream almost lost all rationality. His fingers itched for action, for chaos, for violence. Grasping anything that would destroy the smug face of Tommy, that same smirk that widened so much when Wilbur declared the independence of l’Manberg, he felt the cold surface of TNT strapped to his side. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused, his hand fingering the fuse, twirling it, knowing he had a flint and steel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The few TNT he lit during the Dream SMP Vs L’Manberg war did little damage to the structures themselves and was easily patched up, yet with the element of surprise on their side from Eret’s betrayal a cannon life was ripped away from each of the founders. In the midst of the chaos, with gun powder and smoke and the blasting hisses of explosions,with torn cloth and hair befouled and eyes wide, with a shredded flag and broken walls and shattered hope, Dream felt victory with the crimson edges of blades, and felt power with the shaking ground as more TNT lit. It was a crazy feeling, an addictive feeling of control. Yet...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No. He passed the opportunity, regaining his cool and uncurling his hands. He needs the Discs first. There was no use ruining the event without it, for that would only taint his relationship farther with this childish country. There was nothing he could do as of now, yet a plan was already forming in his mind and a smile, slightly crooked with a sinister wickedness, widened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon, he promised to himself, soon.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Feel free to comments and provide feedbacks! Tell me if anything is confusing and if the transition is rushed. Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Childish Worries</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Maturity is not by age, but the acceptance of your responsibility.” - Edwin Louis Cole</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Fundy’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His fur was an auburn orange underneath the morning sun as he sauntered around l’Manberg, his father’s prized possession. He circled the walls, his white muzzle catching droplets of moisture suspended in the air as he tilted his ears, listening to the light singing of birds in the distance. Soft grass ruffled underneath his steps, his hands in his pocket he stared blankly in front of him, boredom the main force pushing him forward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pass the walls, up the stairs, through the stone halls of the grand castle built for this new form of government, Fundy shook his head as he traced the space between each brick. The country, the wall around it, the flag, the war with Dream, the castle, the election, and now, the new idea of monarchy. Fundy had, and should’ve given up long ago the hope of getting any attention from his father, of his dismissive, ignorant father. It didn’t matter, for whatever he was to, whatever ridiculous, ostentatious thing he thinks of, Wilbur would never care. With this thought he pulled his black hat with golden decals over his eyes and with his head low casually he went past the open door of an office space. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, so Fundy ran against you in the election? Why?” He heard Techno ask, and Fundy’s ears perked up in curiosity and he paused before the crack of the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur shrugged.  “He was just in his rebellious teenage phrase.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy’s ears dropped, and Fundy took a step away, eyes on the floor once more and laughing, almost, at his sudden peak of hope. It was just then that his whiskers stiffened, and he froze himself right before colliding into Philza, who had in front of him a pile of scrolls. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oops, sorry Fundy! Could you help me carry these to Techno?” The winged man said, giving him an awkward smile. Fundy just nodded, grasping the opportunity to peek into the affair of Wilbur, who he knew was still talking with the new king. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As I was saying, you would need an Advisor, a Secretary of State, a Treasury of State, a right hand man and people like that to support your administration and help you deal with the business of ruling a nation.” Fundy could now see more clearly into the room, and found Wilbur with his hands by his side and a step taken towards Techno, who was sharpening a long blade in his lap. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno gave Phil a nod, signalling him to leave the scrolls on a table, but he did so without looking up at Wilbur, the smooth surface of the blade reflecting the dull eye socket of the boar mask. “Look, I understand that you have more experience than I do in this field, but trust me, those decisions aren't worth that much pondering. Phil will be my advisor, and you will be a great and devoted Secretary and Treasury of State.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur crossed his arms. “And what about Tommy and Tubbo?” It was quick for Fundy to notice how Wilbur held no disagreement for taking on two positions, with all its work and power, and easy to detect the hidden grin that slightly widened at Techno’s decision. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re still children, Wilbur, I don’t think they’re prepared to take the job and do good at it, nor do I think they want the responsibility.” Wilbur nodded, seemingly pleased with the distribution and content with the reasons. Again, Fundy noticed that his own name was not of mention. It was as if he himself had slipped completely out of his own father’s mind. That, or he didn’t qualify as a candidate nearly as much as Tommy or Tubbo did and therefore wasn’t even worth considering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both possibilities left a bitter taste in his mouth, and Fundy turned to quickly flee the room, running away before his presence was ever even acknowledged. Something broke inside of him and with it his spirit was crushed and his heart was dropped, and he realized that even when not expecting anything, he still managed to be disappointed. With his hands shoved deeper in his pockets than ever and his mood a thundercloud, he stomped down the stairs and into the fresh air in an attempt to clear his mind only to find Tommy and Tubbo on the lawn, seemingly having a private conversation. Their presence was only a  reminder of the incident moments ago, and Fundy growled, turning his heels before stopping mid-way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An idea had sprouted in his mind, and Fundy snickered, his bad mood gone. Swiping his hands hands together he quickly skipped away, his tail upright and cheerful as he grinned a wily grin to himself, his eyes shining with the naughty playfulness of a child. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh they won’t know what hit them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Tommy’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His blond hair waved in the wind, which had grown from a light breeze into a shrill gust blowing against the shells of his ears as he watched the sunset, bringing with it away the warmth that splashed his l’Manberg uniform into an orange hue. His eyes were one reflecting some melancholy blues as he stared into the distance, his eyebrows slightly shriveled up in thought. Beside him, Tubbo poked the floor with a stick somewhat awkwardly, stealing glances at him when he thinks he isn’t looking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grasped the soft grass underneath him, letting the green blades go between his fingers before lying down, closing his eyes. Despite the act of triumph he had donned days before on the ceremony, when he boasted so loudly and confidently to Dream, he was left with an ominous, unshakable feeling of dread that crawled down his spine in icy fingers and refused to leave, preventing him of even entertaining the thought of relaxing, losing his guard or fooling around. It kept him on edge, anxiously waiting and anticipating for something horrible to strike, to be just around the corner. It left his hand ache from clenching in a fist, left his eyebrows sore from being so tightly knitted, left him not a moment to spare, to forget their mission and to just enjoy what he once had before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the same feeling that warned him when they had just defeated Jschlatt, in their original world, the same voice that called and told him that it wasn’t over, that it wasn’t safe. Yet he had ignored it, that time, ignored the ominous weight hanging over him and had celebrated, a minute too soon. “It was meant to be.” He had said, too blinded by excitement to notice that Wilbur had left the crowd that day, November 16th, walking towards a room he thought he would never go or see again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And now it was back, and he couldn’t shake away the terrible feeling, couldn’t rest. Perhaps, he sometimes thought, he was just going insane. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was from all he’s been through. Maybe it was just past flashbacks, similar to jet lag but for time travelling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was from when he was exiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did feel like he was going crazy during those times. Of course he was, as alone as he had been, as much gaslights and manipulation he had endured from Dream. There was also the fact, of course, with Tubbo. His hand slipped into his pocket, and pulled out of it was the worn red bandanna which he squeezed, feeling the cloth soft around his thumb.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembered his shock, remembered his anger but more or it confusion, when he was exiled, when Tubbo dropped such sharp words which hit him had, when he was driven away from his own country, the nation he sacrificed everything for, the place he protected, founded shoulder to shoulder with his friends and families, and would’ve died for, when he look behind him and saw if recede into nothing but a dot in the background, as voices screamed for him to plea for his nemesis, for Dream to stop the boat. He remembered the hollowness his own empty blue eyes mirrored, as he dutifully dropped countless things after things into a pit, the action automatic and meaningless, only a matter or routine. He remembered clearly the coldness he felt, a stunned, bitter feeling when he was left alone, when no one came to his beach party as a sinking realization drained the excitement and joy from pale skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy I-” Tubbo began, opening his mouth before shutting it, as if indecisive as to how to speak his mind. Another careful glance was thrown at him, and annoyance and an unexplainable anger sparked within him. Tommy turned to glare back, but his eyes must have betrayed too much of an irritated look, for Tubbo winced, shuddering a little.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy shook the thoughts of his exile away. They, Tubbo, had made up for it, hadn’t they? There were so many apologies, so many things done instead of spoken. They were back on the same side, shoulder to shoulder, friends to friends. All was forgiven, all was mended, and the fragmented world that once shattered right in front of him was taped back together when he held his discs in his hand, when he cheered and his own shouts were joined by Tubbo’s and many more as Dream was locked in, up and away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tommy blinked before asking dryly, trying to keep his voice so very still and neutral that it brought with it a fake, awkward air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo rubbed his fingers as he stared at the ground, pretending to study the blades of grass or the crawling of some nearby ants. “It’s just that… W-why do you look so worried, man? We-we’ve gotten so far, survived so much. If you’re just worried we might fail, well… we can always go back before two month, right? There isn’t, isn’t too much to worry about here. We’re not only safe, we are… were, happy, back then, right now. Don’t you remember?” Tommy watches Tubbo gesture the air frustratingly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a pause. The ominous weight has not faded, and the sense of dread made him feel that the world was balanced on the tip of a needle, one gentle push to any side and ready to fall and break, crack into a million pieces. A feeling of helplessness, however, overrides the other senses when he realizes that Tubbo did not understand it any better if not even worse than he did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re right.” Tommy forced the words out just barely, but as he said it he got a little more cheerful. He wanted to believe Tubbo, believe that everything would be okay, that it was fine to relax, to fool and play around again like he always wanted to, to be the kid that people forgot to remind him he is and to throw the burden of the future away childishly. He wanted, needed the break, from carrying a weight too heavy for his age. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They both did. And so the fake enthusiasm that he pushed out quickly became more sincere, and he became more hopeful, his eyes a more vibrant blue as he jumped up. “You know what, Tubbo? Yah! Hell I remember! You know, recently Wilbur had gone all old and serious, that he forgot about the main reason we started l’Manberg! To deal drugs! Let’s go remind him right now!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“W-what?” Tubbo said, chuckling slightly before he was joined with Tommy’s laughter, and together they walked towards the castle entrance still doing so with tears almost spilling from their eyes and Tommy’s arm hunched over Tubbo’s shoulder as they hugged their stomachs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But even as he laughed, the sound loud enough to chase away his worries, he still felt it, that dreadful, uneasy sensation that hung over him so ominously as if a warning. The last time he relaxed and fooled around he was exiled, it reminded him, and Tommy's smile wavered just a little. Those whispers ringed in his mind, and were unshakable. It made him mad, how persistent they were, and scared, when they left and were silent, for he didn’t know what they were planning. His head hurt from the mere thought of what the ominous weight could mean.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet Tubbo had chuckled without hesitance or doubt, so confident that all was going to be fine that Tommy envied him, and was happy to see that at least someone could laugh freely and effortlessly. Just as he thought this, his vision turned red, and a bucket of lava was dumped head-first on to them, the hissing heat and the chuckling of Fundy all he could hear as he immediately swimmed out and water bucketed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the heck was that man?” He shouted to the snickering fox, who began to run away with him and Tubbo chasing behind, all laughing ridiculously. And again the voices were temporarily forgotten, and underneath a sky painted in scarlet red, splashed with a blush of  pink and dotted with a gentle blue and a tinge of violet there were only the shadows of three young men, each with their own thoughts and their own childish worries.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please comment, I would love feedback! I am also trying to do weekly updates, so stay tuned!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Some Things Never Change</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“The past can’t hurt you anymore, not unless you let it.” - Alan Moore</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Techno's first test and decision as king. However, the discussion ht too close to home for two certain individuals.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Technoblade’s P.O.V</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a flick of his wrist he snapped shut another book, and with a sigh he stood up from the now dim room to switch on a light. His sight darkened for a moment, his legs giving away and forcing him to sit against the desk, supporting himself with his arm. A glance was thrown at the piles of scrolls he still had, and the many papers he was supposed to sign for legitimacy, and he rubbed his temple, his vision returning. Throwing his glasses to a corner, he lifted himself back up to wobble towards the balcony, leaning onto the railings to take in the scent of light, evening air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The night had long dawned, though he had hardly noticed. It was only when words and sentences began to blur and scramble, when the rustling of paper became the only sound he could recall hearing the entire day and the aching of his eyes forced him to close them for long moments at a time that he realized he needed a break. “Heh… this really isn’t healthy.” He mumbled to himself, shaking his head and smiling while tugging a strand of pink hair behind his ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What isn’t healthy?” Technoblade jerked his head towards the door, shoulders suddenly tensed and out of habit, a hand reached for a blade usually strapped at his waist. Usually his senses were sharper, his guard never dropped and much more acute to the taps of a footstep, yet he hadn’t noticed the person who had just slipped in through the door. He glared at the brown tuft of hair underneath the beanie, the yellow sweater that the familiar face wore when a uniform isn’t required. Wilbur smiled a little, waving his hand, and Techno relaxed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This much reading.” Techno replied, gesturing towards his desk, a mess of opened and still tied scrolls, of highlighted pages scribbled with notes and books half opened. “With such little time since its creation, you or whoever sure wrote down a bunch of detailed stuff about this country.” He looked away from the work he still needed to do and instead, directed his glance to the sky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This country is your country now, isn’t it?” Wilbur reminded, and Techno clutched the railings a little harder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sky was beautiful this evening. Sparkled about were winking stars of all sizes, dotting the black canvas with glinting pieces of light as a full moon beamed down at them, casting everything in a gentle sheet of ghostly white as it guarded the dreams of those sleeping soundly under its watch. “It’s a lovely view today.” Techno said, intentionally not answering him and thankful, when Wilbur didn’t pin him down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Indeed.” Wilbur nodded, following his glance and looking up now as well. Techno studied the tall man beside him. Wilbur’s eyes had sparked brighter than the last time they met face to face, now with a dream and an ambition he called l’Manberg. His shoulders had grown stronger, strong enough to carry the weight of his dream, his head held higher with pride. No longer did the person standing beside him seem naive or foolish, and he could no longer glimpse the child that always loosed spars and made a big deal about it within him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had grown up, Techno decided, in a good way. Yet they had grown somewhat distant, having not met in so long that they were practically strangers, with only memories and nostalgia encouraging their few conversations unrelated to governing a kingdom. It was sad, but it didn’t surprise him to be this way. Closing his eyes and widening a subtle smile, Techno enjoyed the moment of peace he now had and treasured, standing quietly beside his brother just stargazing, with their silence not a bit awkward but only calming. It had been so long since they did just this, did nothing and still enjoyed it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To Techno’s dismay, Wilbur interrupted the moment. “Well, I came to discuss something, actually.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s about Jschlatt and Quackity.” Techno’s eyes narrowed, and his faint smile quickly curled downward into a frown. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you all know, Jschlatt and Quackity, our former political nemesis, has been locked up in the basement dungeon ever since the election.” Wilbur said, eyeing everyone in the room, arms by his side. It was now the next morning, and such a sunny day it was, Techno thought as a glance was thrown to the sky that was now a vibrant blue tainted with some fluffy white clouds lazily sauntering about. What a pity it is for it to be spent indoors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned his attention back to the problem in question, and looked down from the throne, lips a sealed line. Philza stood beside him, while Tommy crossed his arms with Tubbo by his side. Fundy stood near his father, not quite but away from everyone else. The position of which each person stood was almost a representation of their alliance, of who they agree with and will support, and it intrigued him more than the speech Wilbur was giving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moving himself to focus, he heard as Wilbur continued. “I have been planning to get rid of them for quite a while now, but that decision is no longer mine. So, Techno, I propose that you decide their fate now, at the prime time of only a few weeks since their imprisonment.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To deal with them, I propose two options. Exile-” Techno curiously noted how Tommy’s frown deepened at those words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-or execution.” He studied how Tubbo’s brows knit tighter together, hands curled up at his side.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The choice is yours.” Wilbur backed off, hands behind his back as he looked solemnly up at him expectantly and respectfully, making Techno wince. “So what will it be?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m willing to seek all of your advice on this. What do you think of this, Phil?” A hand to his chin, Techno asked, his teeth slightly gritted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil gulped, “I don’t really know which to choose. However, this is what I can conclude. Exile, and they have a chance of planning a revenge. Execution, public or private, and people are going to get a… peculiar impression of you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, giving Techno a weak smile. “That’s what I have to say.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy?” Techno nodded towards the boy on his left, flapping his pig ears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, we’re not exiling them. Let’s execute them. It’s simple, it’s clean. Exile is…. I don’t have more to say.” Tubbo’s eyes widened, as he turned to face Tommy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arms to his side, Techno watched as the darker haired boy shouted towards his friend. “What? No-! We’re not! An execution will only reflect on Technoblade so poorly! It’s cruel-!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy threw a particularly cold, clouded glance towards Tubbo before mumbling. “Exile is worse, trust me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean exile is worse-?! Technoblade, could Tommy and I go to another room and have a moment, please?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno nodded, and out the two went. He let out a breath, and shut his eyes for a brief moment, though not before catching a worried glance from Phil. He let them flood in, his thoughts no longer his in one second as they thrived, crowded and cramped. The voices. They were louder, more excited than they have ever been in a long while, and it was now impossible to block them out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had been ignoring them since Phil got the letter that he was going to be king. He had wanted to think quietly, had not wanted the voices to conjure him more doubt than he already had, had not wanted their opinions or their distraction. He needed to focus, he knew, as a king, and ADHD isn't making it easier nor were the voices going to. So he had shut them out completely, a wall between his mind and their devilish whispers. They had banged against it, throwing themselves upon it, knocking it down brick by brick, growing louder, more wild, as time passed and they still weren’t listened to, still weren’t fed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blood for the blood god. Execution. Death, only death. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Now unleashed, they urged him, the same message they had always loved to whisper. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Death. Blood. Kill them. Execute them. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Clawing whispers, with sharp fangs they can shred and tore anyone’s sanity. United together they were powerful, washing over his own thoughts and moving him like a marionette with strings. With so much pressure upon him, grasping reality became hard, and what’s his and what’s theirs blurred. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched away, opening his eyes to find Phil, whose eyes were a mirror of concern and understanding. “Are you okay?” The winged man whispered, and Techno blinked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brushing the hand away, Techno nodded with effort. “I’ll be fine, Phil. </span>
  <b>They</b>
  <span>’re just really, really excited.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil patted his shoulders before turning away. Phil understood, of course, the voices and their power. He had his own, and dealt with them a different way. He had comforted young Techno and helped him, too, when the voices were out of control. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Deep breath in, deep breath out, and his mind was clear once more. A couple of voices remained, but he had made them quieter, just some slight background noise now. Still, he took into consideration what they wanted, though it has always the same. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They want blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo’s P.O.V</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He found himself quite angry, though he couldn’t understand it. Dragging Tommy behind him by the wrist they went into another room, and he clicked close the door, though not before looking left and right in the hallway so he knew no one followed behind. “Why won’t you exile them?” He turned sharply, straightforwardly he almost demanded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy rubbed his arm nervously. “I-... Tubbo, I know Jschlatt and Quackity were-, are horrible people, but…” Tommy avoided his glance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t understand, Tubbo. It was horrible out there. Who's gonna make sure they stay exiled, huh? Dream? Doesn’t that remind you of something? Just execute them man!” Tubbo’s eyes widened as he suddenly realized what this was about. His friend’s eyes were a melancholic blue, one that was shrouded with memories,  bad memories, and threaded with sadness and fear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t understand…?’ Tommy said he didn’t understand? Does </span>
  <b>he</b>
  <span> understand how it felt, to be forced to be a spy for his friends, to be allies with both yet neither sides, to walk on eggshells around his enemies and his friends until who’s who smudged and blurred? Does </span>
  <b>he</b>
  <span> understand how it felt, to be trapped in that tiny box, to stare helplessly out at Wilbur and Tommy, to plead to his supposed ally Techno as a blade was pointed to his neck? Does </span>
  <b>he</b>
  <span> understand how with widened eyes, Tubbo had realized that he had decorated his own decoration, how the flying flags which hanged about to brighten a festival would be tainted with crimson and how, in the explosion of fireworks and colour, one canon life would be ripped away from him while nothing could be done on his part?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A scorching frustration flared, and Tubbo found he couldn’t keep his calm. “Publicly execute them? What, should we get a festival for them too? Should we let them decorate their execution too? Maybe that will jerk your mind?” He shouted, and Tommy winced, before his brows curled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not the same as your execution!” Tommy’s hands curled up as he yelled back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well then it’s not the same as your exile either!” Tubbo cried out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo gritted his teeth. He was done, being called a push-over. He was done, letting others decide everything about him, following them blindly. Just as he had the thought he realized that it contradicted what he wanted previously, how he wanted no responsibility. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Upset was written over his face as Tommy glared at him. “Jschlatt did it to you, why can’t you do it to him? He probably deserves this!” He stumbled on his words, teeth bared.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why can’t we just exile them? You’d choose death over being exiled?” Tubbo stepped forward, his own voice loud and echoing in the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo didn’t know anymore, which to choose. When he made no decision, when he only listened and did what he was told, he had been hurt. When he had the choice, had the power, he had hurted others, and ruled worse than anyone else. His mind hurt from thinking about it, from wanting to be both but neither.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would! I almost suicided out there Tubbo! It was awful, being thrown away by your own country!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thought they were past this. He thought Tommy had forgiven him, and that he himself had forgave his friend as well. He thought they were okay again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seemed that some wounds never healed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well it was equally awful to be killed by my own country, and even directly by a supposed ally!” Tubbo shouted, his words empty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tears circled those eyes, staring at him not angrily but with so much hurt Tubbo shook underneath them, his own eyes growing wet. “I was exiled by my own best friend! What do you have to say to that, huh? You still think your experience was bad?!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo felt suddenly so tired. It was like a déjà vu, the argument familiar with the one they had the night before Tommy’s exile yet not the same. ‘I’m sorry’ would sound so fake right now, Tubbo thought, as silence fell and he dropped his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cloth ruffled, but Tubbo didn’t look up, his thoughts a mess. Regret slowly slipped in as time allowed him to look back on the words he just said. “If you’re going to be like this, Tubbo, then have this. I don’t want it anymore.” Tommy sounded suddenly cold, a biting breeze that stinged his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Red lined his eyes as they broadened, as Tubbo tilted his head and saw it in the extended hand of Tommy. The compass. &lt;&lt;Your Tubbo&gt;&gt;, it was named. He almost choked on the name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y-you wouldn’t…” Tubbo’s mouth felt dry. He stared back at Tommy, who looked so certain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But whatever it is, we’re not exiling them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door creaked open abruptly, and they both turned. Techno stepped in, Philza peaked his head in and Wilbur and Fundy followed behind, “I don’t know what you guys are saying but… I was thinking, why don’t we just do neither?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Wilbur asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno shrugged nonchalantly. “Keep them in the dungeon. I don’t see the need to deal with them at all. Within the prison, they are more silenced and powerless as they ever will be, maybe beside execution. But if death isn’t the only option, and my reign has only for a week, let’s keep the floor somewhat clean of blood as of now, yes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I agree with that.” Phil said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mumbles of agreement sounded through the room. Wilbur seemed slightly unsatisfied, but he didn’t speak against it. Techno nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s what we’ll do then. Thank you everyone, uh, for gathering here. The meeting is now adjourned.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo left the room, but not before giving a glance at Tommy, who he found was staring his way as well. They held their gazes. No words were spoken, as if no words were needed, yet Tubbo heard, hoped desperately that he heard, a silent apology pass through them, before slipping behind the door. With his heart and breath held, he continued on his day.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comment and feedback? Are Tommy and Tubbo's reactions somewhat realistic to their cannon characters?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Sparring Practise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“You will never find a better sparring partner than adversity.  - Golds Mers</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Philza’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rustling of his wings announced his presence as he pushed open a grand door into a room he hadn’t seldom visited. Through towering windows and a porcelain balcony came splashing in the gentle warmth of morning sunshine that is blinding to those drowsy from a night of restless sleep but to Phil, only the bright start of another, even brighter day. The room was more than fancy, with delicate designs lining the walls and legs of every furniture and exquisite materials of all sorts used to construct them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was somewhat strange to him, to be living in separate spaces so distant and, although full with luxurious, empty of a sense of company and lacking the crowded feeling of everything necessary being within reach. Too much time was spent walking through corridors carpeted with silk and walls cleaned so meticulously that he could eye his own reflection, and though he was gradually growing more accustomed and no longer as awed at the various displays, he became aware of the slight emptiness of such a big place, how the opportunity to spot each other within the halls had decreased with the increase of size of their new home. It delighted him little, and was far from what he had hoped for the family to be together again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Being appointed as the Advisor didn’t really change the daily routine he had back in their cottage, nor did moving into this mansion of a castle. It didn’t give him much power either, not that he had wanted it in the first place, for Techno had required little assistance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had only been a few weeks since the inauguration. The most Techno had done and could do had been to bury himself underneath the pile of books and scrolls noting the happenings of the independence of l’Manberg, as well as familiarize himself with the geographic locations of the l’Manberg and the faction known as the Dream SMP. Both of which Techno had done immediately, silently and without reminder or requesting help. He had always been an independent child, and to those who knew him, his sheer dedication when his mind is set upon something should be far more feared than his raw combat skills, though this had left Phil somewhat bored and without work. The only occasion where he was required had happened days ago, the decision of how to deal with Jschlatt and Quackity, yet even then the most he did was listen and watch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>During the meeting, however, it had dawned to him suddenly, quietly, the changes of the three, of Wilbur, Tommy and Tubbo. In the couple years which they were left alone, they’ve all grown in their own special, particular way. It wasn’t significant, perhaps, to those who had remained by their side, but time had traced their faces, marks that were only seen yesterday, under the atmosphere of such a serious business. He had caught the glint of disappointment Wilbur quickly hid after the decision was announced, felt the layer of confusion and shock that flashed over Tubbo’s face when Tommy spoke his opinion, and even saw the depth of anger and sadness, of regret and of hurt, that were betrayed so very briefly, when Tubbo had left the room and something was clutched harder in Tommy’s hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinked, bringing himself back to the present, as he opened the windows to the fresh air and the chirping of singing birds. He looked around, his eyes glancing quickly from the empty bed to the scrolls left open, scattered about on a desk to find the rise and falling back of a tired, slightly snoring king.  A blanket, left from yesterday night, had dropped to the ground, and no amount of sunlight or songs of birds looked as if it could disturb how soundly Techno was sleeping. His boar mask and his crown was left into a corner, revealing a face that was somewhat rarely seen, closed eyes on top of which glasses still sat were lined with weariness and lack of proper rest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would be unthinkably cruel to interrupt the peaceful, calm expression that was held right now, Phil thought as he turned around, about to slip quietly out of the room and letting his son catch a few more winks of sleep. It was just then that an overhyped blond ran through the door, slamming it loudly and shouting, “Technoblade I challenge you to a duel!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A facepalm to his eyes as Techno jerked awake, rubbing his eyes before grunting out. “Phil, did you reintroduce that child to sugar?” Phil laughed, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy opened his mouth to protest, before blue eyes slightly widened and he closed it again. Stopping his stomping he had just seemed to catch on. “Oh shoot, did you just wake up? Did I wake you up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yup.” Techno deadpanned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Well… uhhhhhh… it doesn’t have to happen now! Sometime later, I guess? Today, preferably? You know, I’m busy too, uhhhhh…” Scratching the back of his head, Tommy said as he took three steps back and out of the room, his hand on the doorknob. “You know what, you can figure that out Techno, byeeeeee.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And out went Tommy. The door closed again, and Techno sighed before saying. “Wait-! I didn’t even agree to the duel I-! You know what, that’s alright. Whatever. It might only take a minute or two. It’s fine, I can spare that.” Waving his hand in the air Techno jokes, to which Phil chuckled heartily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anyhow, is there anything I missed during that good 2 hours of sleep? You know, any declaration of war? Any natural disasters? Catastrophic, apocalyptic event? No? Could’ve slept longer then.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nope, none of that. Just a child high on sugar.” Phil responded, and  Techno joined in with Phil’s chuckling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pushing himself up from the chair and draping the red mantle back on his back, the crown shifted slightly on the strands of pink hair and the mask, in the presence of Phil, left untouched as of now, Techno walked out to the balcony with his elbows on the railings. “Ah, well, if that’s the case. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Phil, about some of the plans that I already have in mind for this country. You see, as the Advisor, it’s essential that you at least know the gist of what I’m thinking, and provide feedback.” Philza nodded, listening intently and glad to be able to provide some help. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, well, the first thing I want to do, Phil, is achieve ruthless materialism.” Philza laughed as Techno continued. “You see, during the fight for L’Manberg’s independence, Wilbur and the rest were, though not drastically but still a little bit, out-armoured. They, they didn’t have the best enchantments on the armour or the weapons, didn’t have enough golden apples and potions and such to stand much of a chance in direct combat, of course not comparing each individual difference in prowess in the first place. And that is only one of many factors that tells me L’Manberg needs more resources.” Philza nodded again, leaning over the railings to look down at the rest of l’Manberg. Squinting his eyes one could see Tubbo, busy doing something in the distance, perhaps something to do with bees. The boy had always had an obsession with bees.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno followed his glance and was looking down as well, except with a more grave expression, his eyes weighed with seriousness and responsibility. Techno had fallen into the role of a king nicely, Phil thought to himself as he followed along in skips, as he watched the toppled over crown somehow remain amidst the pink strands. “A kingdom needs citizens, Phil, a king is nothing without his people. To attract these people to move here a kingdom needs wealth, needs incentives to encourage these immigration. See, Phil, the answer to everything is slavery.” Techno paused, to which Philza burst with laughter. “That was a joke, but the answer to everything is indeed materialism, and I’m thinking full netherite, for the five of us, maybe Fundy too. I want to get stacked, Phil. We won’t be fighting any time soon, hopefully, but it’s definitely better safe than sorry. I want a netherite sword, axe and pickaxe, for all of us. Crossbows, with fireworks, maybe even a trident. Potions, strength and invisibility. Golden carrots and apples. The list goes on. To achieve these, we need goons. Ah yes, back to the topic of slavery.” Philza wheezed. Humour never seems to get old with Techno by his side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Waving his hands in the air, Techno gestured towards areas as if mapping the construction of these future places. “Enchantments, so we need XP farms. Netherite, so we need a lot of mines for diamonds and emeralds. Villagers, too, so we have to heal some zombie villagers to get those nice, cheap prices for trades. Some time needs to be spent in the nether to get potion materials… It’s a bit far-fetched right now, Phil, but you know what they say. No dream is too high for those with their eyes in the sky. It all boils down to what I want to ask of you, Phil, and that is for you to look around and recruit more people that would be interested in becoming l’Manberg citizens. Can you do that for me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Philza could agree, though he supposed a question posed in such fashion by a king could hardly be refused, Tommy barged in for the second time, yelling out. “Come on Techno, let’s spar!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What- You were just here moments ago!” Techno protested as Philza only laughed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m a busy man Techno, come on!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And their conversation was cut short, as Techno was practically pulled out by the blond onto a small field that served as the training ground. A nice breeze brushed across the ground, specks of sand and grass rolling with the rustling of branches on nearby trees. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Niki, wanna watch?” Philza heard Tommy invite, as he pulled out two wooden blades and tossed one to Techno, who caught it mid-air with a twirl.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil found a bench nearby and seated. “Where’s Tubbo? I saw him earlier. He might wanna watch.” He asked Tommy. He remembered the days where the two would be so inseparable they were like brothers, in all but blood, how with the two children hours would be spent just chatting and laughing away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But what he received was a stiff shrug and dry words, blue eyes not meeting his. “I don’t know.” Tommy only answered while testing the weight of the wooden sword. Phil pursed his lips, brows furrowing just a little.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How odd, he thought, as Wilbur joined them as well to watch the spar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Tommy’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The gentle breeze made waves in the thin blades of grass. He twird the sword that was quickly crafted, meant to be damaged and reconstructed easily. Wood pricks grazed his hand roughly as he held it, swinging it a little bit in the air to get used to its weight. His eyes weren’t focused, however, on the sword, nor did he care about the outcome of this spar. It was only, if anything, a distraction from the hazy night he had before, and of the fight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t, couldn’t have a good sleep last evening, not after the echo of the words yelled across the room that day repeated over and over again in his mind, taunting him, daring him to catch even a wink of rest. It made him irritated, his hair a stiff mess and sweat making his cloth cling to his back uncomfortably as he could only eye the rising sun that coloured the sky a golden hue in the morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He went for a walk, the chilling, biting morning air breathed against the back of his bare neck as he circled l’Manberg, his shoes wet from collecting droplets of mist left on grass that glistened underneath the sun. It was quiet, everyone still in the midst of a sweet dream and blissfully unbothered by their thoughts, he was left alone with only a few buzz of crickets and song birds nearby.  Standing by the pole that stretched high to the sky he stared for long moments at the flag of l’Manberg, its vibrant colors soaring in the calming blue sky. They all failed, however, to clear his fogged mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he walked back to his room with a cloudy mood a cloth slipped out of his pocket and onto the floor. Bending down to pick it up he had flinched, frozen in mid-action, to realize that it was the worn bandana he had brought with him from the future and had safely cach within his uniform. The thread-bare green neckwear was slightly ripped at the edges, soft from overuse and a bit tainted with dirt. Shoving it into the depth of his pocket he had found yet another object of dread, the cold iron surface of a compass he now wished he could toss out the window. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The annoyance which shrouded him as he slammed open his own bedroom door was unexplainable and unjustifiable, with the only thing he could do was to distract and forget himself in the midst of action. And so he ran to Techno’s room in a feigned excitement, and found himself now at the training ground, his own thoughts dreadful and still not chased away despite all his efforts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He moved his eyes to Technoblade now, and though he knew he stood no chance he tried to study his opponent’s movement. Technoblade had brushed away a braid of hair, lifting them out as he shifted his mantle to better balance on his shoulder, out of way from any swift dashes. He stretched a little, flicking his wrist to give his sword a few experimental swings and dusting his blouse before glancing at Tommy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok Techno, let’s go!” Tommy shouted. A faint smirk widened underneath the skull mask, as Techno brought his sword into a guard position, two hands on the hilt, sliding his feet into a fighting stance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy took in the other’s posture, how relaxed the hand was that curled around the blade and how calm and firmly he stood. It was silent, an air of suspense as the two combatants circled one another slowly, feet shuffling on the rocky ground. Heart held, Tommy knew the other was waiting for an opportunity to strike and would be much quickly to grasp it, and so he stalled, mirroring the other’s move and watching the other carefully. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You better not underestimate me, I’ve practised and I haven’t lost in forever!” cried Tommy, and attacked suddenly, lunging forwards with his sword held across his body and hoping to use the element of surprise as his only leverage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, there’s a first time to everything.” Without hesitation Technoblade surged forwards to meet him; at the instant their swords met with a loud crack of wood, and Tommy changed the angle of his attack to slide past Technoblade’s defense. His opponent twisted his body to avoid the hit and retaliated by forcing Tommy’s sword up, then disengaging and, with lightning speed, slicing at his chest. Tommy slid one foot back in a half turn and brought his sword down not a moment too soon to block, gritting his teeth at the impact. Tommy stepped backwards again to gain space, and expected Technoblade to follow him, to seize the moment to push his sword back, yet to his surprise Techno leaped back, and put some distance between them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fast as though the exchange had been, it had left him breathless and with a heaving chest, while Techno only kept his steady breathing and was barely looking at him, somewhat distracted by a butterfly in the distance. He wasn’t even trying, Tommy thought, and gripped the handle a little harder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seemed Techno had intentionally given him room to breath, out of pity or something else Tommy couldn’t say. As he planned his next attack Tommy thought of what he did last time he battled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright. We had some laughs. It was fun while it lasted. You know, all good things must come to an end eventually…” Tommy’s eyes slightly widened as he thought back to that day, his eyebrows knit together tighter, yet the memory had flooded in and could no longer be shed.  With a blink he found himself at that dreadful prison, with the mocking smile carved onto Dream’s mask looking down at him and Tubbo, with a weaker smile, looking at him with hopelessness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a haunting scene, and attempting to shake it away by any means, Tommy recklessly, abruptly, dashed towards Techno with an overhand strike.Technoblade spun to avoid the unexpected attack, putting his back to Tommy for a dangerous moment, who slid one foot forwards, stretching his arm out to make the most of his sudden opportunity, but too late, as Techno turned around just in time and slashed down brutally, locking their blades together and pressing down so heavily Tommy gave away, now precariously off-balance. Then, Technoblade faked a lunge and, when Tommy moved to block, drew back and sliced at his abdomen. By the skin of his teeth Tommy escaped, dropping to the ground and scooching back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But… what am I without you?” Tommy had asked that day, and he heard his own voice ring in his mind now, as he and Techno exchanged a series of rapid-fire blows. He grit his teeth, and tried a spin that Techno dodged with a turn, and with it they were back in the fray.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yourself.” Tubbo had answered without a pause, with eyes so vacant and bleak. So very hopeless and convinced that nothing would and could be changed. “It’s okay. We- we said our goodbyes already at the start” A weak yet steady smile widened a little at Tommy, as if comforting him. Tubbo was facing death, yet Tommy was the one who needed comforting. The irony had stinged his eyes, as Tommy opened his mouth, searching for the right word, his shock having still yet to reside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy threw himself into the ebb and flow of the spar, trying to move in time with the rhythm of Technoblade’s attacks, to feel the way his opponent’s momentum and weight shifted; but Technoblade was a skilled and crafty fighter, difficult to anticipate and nearly impossible to catch off-balance. No matter how he tried, it seemed impossible to do anything but to have his own energy deplete with each swing and slash.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He- he described me as a pawn. T-this is checkmate, Tommy. This is the end. I suggest you resign.” With arms limb by his side Tubbo had suggested calmly, suggesting that Tommy, too, should give up. He sounded so certain, so ready to sacrifice himself, to just leave. Tommy wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Minutes passed with neither fighter gaining the upper hand. The pig had to be tiring – Tommy’s arms were beginning to ache with effort, and his breath was coming in gasps – but Technoblade wasn’t slowing, forcing Tommy on the defensive. Determined not to give in, Dream dodged a strike by dropping to the ground, took one hand off the hilt of his sword, and pushed up against the ground to spring to his feet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo I- I’ve always regarded you as my sidekick through this entire server but- but you were my sidekick Tubbo.” His voice had cracked as he pleaded, now feeling more and more desperate. Time was running, slipping away too fast, yet there were still so much more words to be said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t go.” Tommy had whispered, hoping, needing Tubbo to understand, to agree despite it not being his choice, to be his usual, what he once would’ve called annoying, optimistic self for once again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But his friend had only shook his head sadly. “No, it’s fine. It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not. No no no.” Fear had numbed his finger and his mind as panic sprouted like wildfire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The wind was a shrill howl in his ears, and everything else outside was a blur of colour and sounds. He was snapped back into the present of the spar, away from the whispers and memories for just one moment, at an unfortunate time just as Techno swiped to the left and knocked Tommy off-balance. His heart hung in place but there was no time to withdraw; Technoblade was turning to the side to strike back, and so Tommy lunged in close to trap their swords between them, twisting his wrist to lock their wooden blades together. He managed to get in one hit to Technoblade’s collarbone with the hilt of his sword, and then Techno, who still had a two-handed grip on his own sword, pulled hard and sent Tommy’s practice sword flying out of his hands, and in the next heartbeat had his blade pressed to Tommy’s throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The air froze, and for a moment, Tommy could only hear his heavy panting, could only see the prison and Tubbo’s hopeless, pale face. His trance was broken, however, as Techno stepped back and reached out a hand, one that Tommy took and was immediately pulled to his feet. It felt so solid, so strong, that it shook him completely out of his flashbacks, and he blinked to see smiling faces, some clapping, gathering around them. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t helpless. And it made him smile, despite the fact that he had lost the spar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did good, a lot better than last time.” Techno said, as Tommy wiped off the beads of sweat that had collected on his forehead without him realizing. “But alas, it’s tough to be the best.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy snorted as those around them chuckling. It sounded so jolly in his ears, the genuine, cheerful laughters, so very in contrast to the scenes that burned, etched themselves into his mind. It was okay, though. He was past it. He was in a better place now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And a thunderous boom shattered his fragile moment of peace, and the ground shook, quivered underneath them along with a blossom of black and scarlet smoke. TNT, Tommy realized they were, and was petrified in place, as a few explosions sounded, a deafening clash with the drumming of his own heart. It came from the dungeon. Tubbo, he thought of first. That’s where Tubbo was heading.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s about time anyways, it’s about time.” A small voice that sounded too close to Tubbo’s, whispered in his mind. A wave of debris came crashing through, slicing the air as everyone turned, and saw as at the edge of the castle, a layer of walls collapsed onto the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to miss your chance to say goodbye to your best friend!” Dream had shouted that day, his voice was echoing now as Tommy felt the urge to run, to go and find Tubbo, to make sure he was okay. “You’ll die and you’ll regret that you didn’t say goodbye!” Dread drained the warmth from his veins, and he came close to screaming, yet he could make no sound.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A figure suddenly ran out of the smoke. “Tubbo…?” Tommy managed to breath out as he took in the torn uniform, took in the scratched face, took in the burnt, stiff orange fur. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stepped forward. “Fundy! What happened? The dungeon… Jschlatt and-!” Fundy. Tommy’s heart dropped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy’s voice cracked as he coughed, barely able to choke the words that, upon spoken, left everyone still. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jschlatt and Quackity-! They…T-they’re gone!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Don’t underestimate Philza. He knows more than he says, thinks more than he speaks, and notices more than what anyone realizes.</p><p>Also, Tommy’s been through a lot, so it probably not a good idea for him to choose to relive it... Welp, what’s time traveling for if not that, am I right?</p><p>Would really appreciate feedback and comments! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Interlude I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>*IMPORTANT* The below interlude will be a peek into what’s happening in the canon world, not the AU in which Techno is king. So Dream, Sam, Technoblade and all characters within this and any future interludes would all be referring to their canon characters in the canon plot line of the Dream SMP.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Dream’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You hereby assume all of the risks of visiting the holding cell, including by way of example and not limitation, any risks that may arise from negligence or carelessness on the part of the Prison guards, prisoners misbehaving, from dangerous or defective equipment or property owned, maintained, or controlled by the Prison Guards. You certify that you waive, release and discharge the Prison from any and all liability, including but not limited to, death, disability, personal injury, property damage, property theft, or actions of any kind which may hereafter occur to you, including your travelling to and from visiting the Prisoner.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When was the last time you visited the prison?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream opened his eye and found himself in a tight space of darkness, a vacant void of coldness as frightening as the vacuum of death. Bright coloured lava drooled down from the entrance of the small room, mesmerizing but stinged when stared at for too long. The silence was unnerving and dull as they gnawed and chewed, forcing him to review his mistake, to remember the boiling anger and the ecstasy of power, as well as the foolishness of how he lost it. Unbearable it soon became, and he fumbled with the books and repeatedly opened the chest, grazing his hand against the dark walls and watching as droplets of water drip down. Time crawled and slipped by his fingers like specks of sand, and he did nothing but think and think until it pushed him to the brink of insanity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where is your place of residence currently located?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had felt the exhilaration of power as it coursed through him, as victory was his at last, at long last, after all the time and all the fights and all the words said and all the things done meticulously to deliver him to this one moment. As he toyed with his darling human pawn, as he swiped the glossy surface of Cat and Mellohi, as he played Tommy at his fingertips, as he finally arrived at the checkmate that he had waited for and planned for all along.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you believe the Prisoner is deserving of being locked up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had also felt defeat. Humiliation. Anger. In the prison he had screamed and raged at the vacancy around him, pleading someone to let him out, to speak to him, had plummet into a irrational frustration akin to madness as he scrambled for the slightest clue of what he needed to do to escape this prison, only to be met with silence. In a blind furry he had tried to do whatever he could to destroy the place and himself within it, venting his anger by throwing books and furniture violently and brutally around, drumming the walls and shaking the floor. Nothing helped. Nothing changed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is your prior relationship with the Prisoner?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But within this prison he couldn’t plan. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t do ANYTHING. The master of the minds, the puppeteer, the god of the server was helpless, useless and clueless. And he couldn’t stand it. When his tantrums had finally drifted, he had paced listlessly through the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you willing to submit to any and all physical exams?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He begins fumbling with the thought of playing with Tommy. The boy had visited him, surprisingly, and manipulating him is so much better than the almost frightening emptiness he felt with the rest of the server. It was a goal. It was something to do. It made him feel like his old self again, as a seething, scorching flame of vengeance burned steadily underneath his skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you acknowledge that you may not bring anything into the prison with you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Threads of guilt found him, though, occasionally at moments of the day. It came as a choking sensation, one that tore at his throat and forced him to breath in gasps. It struck him when Sapnap came to visit. It struck him, when he saw those eyes looking, firmly yet sympathetically, as a past that was better, simpler, flashed before his eyes. It stuck him as memories of his old wish of peace and unity of the server, of sincere laughter with friends, of childish, worryless playtime, and . It had caught his tongue, left him speechless, shook his hands as he talked to his friend in only short sentences. Guilt, in the form of murky tears, had slipped down quietly, smudging the little pool of water as Sapnap left him in the prison again, all alone, in a splash of potion effect.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you recognize that I, Awesamdude, is the ultimate authority of the prison?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it all mattered little now, he knew. But he will escape. Eventually. It was only a matter of time, he thought as he smiled to himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In the event that a prisoner is to escape during your visit, or after your visit because of your actions, you hereby give permission for any individual to hunt you down and kill you until you are completely dead. In the event of a security protocol taking place where you are within the bounds of the maximum security cell, you hereby acknowledge that you could potentially be locked within the cell for up to 7 days, or until the security issue is resolved.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watched as lava retracted, and muffled speeches came from the other side. Familiar voices. Someone was visiting him. Amused, he looked up, and squinting his eyes he saw him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Technoblade’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh. What a humble abode this place is, am I right?” Techno said, as he stepped off the moving platform and towards the green man sitting in a corner.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream only nodded as a response. Technoblade walked forward, continuing,  “Look on the bright side, at least you’re not homeless anymore.” A humourless chuckle sounded this time, echoing slightly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice to see you. How have you been? How’s Tommy?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eyeing the crying obsidian, Techno took in the watering hole and the chest, the enchantment table and the item frame on the wall. A look behind him before lowering his voice a little bit, “Everything’s been fine, but I can’t stay long. So listen... I’m a person of absolute reciprocity, Dream. And this prison? The list of rules and things I needed to sign to just get in here? It’s starting to sound a lot like a government. Not as bad and not quite there, of course, but a government at its core. And you know how I feel about governments.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy has been gone for about a month now. That fool must be having fun in the past, to have not already come back by now. To say he was even the slightest worried and concerned would be an overstatement, yet Techno was curious. It was a concept with so much, too much potential, this time traveling thing, yet he knew there must be risks, ones of a magnitude Tommy probably didn’t fully comprehend when he stepped through the portal. Nevertheless, Techno had no plans telling Dream about it. Not unless he had to. As powerful and great of an ally the smiley man had been at l’Manberg destruction, he had a reputation known not to be trusted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shaking those thoughts away, he focused back onto the present.“That favour… I feel like now would be a nice time to cache it in. I don’t want it hanging over my head for too much longer either. Just tell me the words and… and it will happen, alright? That’s all I’ve got to say.” Dream’s eyes seem to brighten, and his back straightened, though Techno couldn’t quite tell behind that ceramic mask. Waving his hand at the man, he turned his heels to step away only to be stopped by a signed book skidding across the floor to stop at his foot. Picking it up, he read hurried prints.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for visiting me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And not a moment later he was out of that cramped space of a room and next to the creeper man once more, who he had known few of and felt a bit uneasy next to. Wanting to rush back to his cabinet in the woods, back to Phil and Ranboo whom he did not tell of his visit, he prepared to make a speedy bid goodbye to the prison warden. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Techno. You and Tommy are brothers, so you care about him, right?” Sam suddenly asked behind him, to which Techno froze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pause. “Not particularly.” Techno replied before continuing to walk away. A truthful answer, yet Sam didn’t seem to care.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam narrowed his eyes. “There was something I forgot to mention about the time traveling portal. And I think you need to hear about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once again this made Techno stop, made him hesitate, only to linger briefly on the thought of entertaining the motion of staying. Tommy’s affairs were no longer of an importance to him, after all. He didn’t need to care about the whereabouts and well-being of that Thesus anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The voices beckoned him. With a sigh, he willed himself to face Sam, who continued. “As I told them, and you were there, they have six month to come back before they become trapped in there forever. However, I’ve been studying all of it more, and time travelling… let’s just say it was even more complicated than I had feared.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” The voices were excited, listening intently and overcrowding a little in Techno’s mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When they entered the portal, a parallel universe to the canon past was created, into which they should now be in. This is why they are able to change the past without affecting the future, like a ‘free-trial’, because the world they’re in right now is not the direct past. Connecting that parallel universe to ours is a wormhole-like passageway dangerously and thinly connected by the portals. This passageway, however, is not permanent, and can only withstand the gravity and pressure of space for six month. As time progresses the wormhole will shrivel up, and pull our universe and the one behind that portal closer and closer together. And at the very end, closer and closer to the due date of six month, time and space, as well as knowledge and alternatives-selves will begin to confuse and mix, causing memories that never belonged to us to be recalled and our memories to appear in the minds of our other selves as well. After exactly six month, however, the portal will collapse, self-destruct and with it the time glitches would be fixed, and our two worlds would merge into one, the future’s fate forever sealed, for the better or the worse.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand on his chin, there was a moment of silence before Techno spoke. “I feel like who to send through this portal, what is the goal and what is the plan is a decision worthy of much more time than the amount you gave Tommy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam scratched the back of his neck, laughed a bit dryly. “I suppose. But the choice is not ours anymore. It’s theirs, Tubbo’s and Tommy’s. Hopefully they know what they’re doing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Casting one last look at the deactivated portal in the distance Techno shook his head and left the prison, as the omniscient voices hushed amidst themselves to avoid betraying any news of the world behind that portal. Jschlatt. Escape. Trouble. Tubbo. Explosions, some voices managed to slip out, but Techno had blocked them out, and was on his journey home.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was written before Tommy got trapped in the prison with Dream. It’s interesting to see what Dream’s past and present self is thinking and how things changed, no? The main thing to take away from this interlude is what Sam was talking about though. Plus, gotta leave the suspense for a little longer ;P</p><p>Also, every dialogue in Dream’s P.O.V is the stuff Sam asked every visitor upon entering the prison as well as the texts on the books which you need to sign, word for word.</p><p>Comment and thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Two Minds, One Throne</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“The greatest slave in a kingdom is generally the king of it.” - Fulke Greville</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Jschlatt’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Battered and bruised he found himself, face black from a coat of smoke and dust and his throat dry with the aftertaste of gunpowder clogging his senses. Wild wind swirled around him as he blinked, sticks and sand crunching underneath every dragging step as they walked through unfamiliar woods. He coughed, falling for a moment onto one knee, only to be roughly hauled up on his feet from the rocky terrains. A seething glare was exchanged between him and the person who has pulled him up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geez. Take it easy, won’t you?” Jschlatt spit the words out, grunting. “We’ve been walking for ages.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Punz frowned. “There’s no time to rest. We’re almost there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They didn’t even notice we were gone!” Quackity chirped in, arms crossed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe, if we were lucky. I'm pretty sure you’re right though, it has certainly brought us some time.” Dream answered, looking over his shoulder to peek curiously at them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, beside the odd mask and on it that sh*t-eating grin, Jschlatt had often found Dream a pleasant person to do business with. A reasonable fella he was, someone who understood the nick and nacks of being a fine leader. That being said, it felt rather bitter and much less pleasant, to be at the mercy of the same guy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, if we wanted to be bossed around by some losers, we would’ve stayed!” Quackity shouted, winning a little. Silence fell after those words, and they continued to trudge down a hidden path, though Quackity’s words stayed and echoed in his mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>L’Manberg was a fine establishment. It was small and it was weak, but it had potential to be something much, much greater. What it lacked was a ruler, a proper president! Not the joke of a leader Wilbur was, him and his silly ideologies that failed to strike even a bit of his fancy. Oh how poorly Wilbur ruled, declaring independence yet not even realizing there was a mole amidst them until the very last moment, when all was too late. Trust and sentiment was all they had and how fragile that system was, so easily broken with just a nudge in the wrong direction or, in their case, a little bit of title to lure Eret to their side. Wilbur perhaps had a fine dream, but a dream without a plan is nothing but a wish! Thus was something that through layers of pride and ignorance that arrogant bastard had failed to realize, and refused to listen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then one could take a look at the subordinates, at the people by Wilbur’s side, and even more laughter could be aroused. No no no. What l’Manberg needed was someone strong and decisive, not a push-over. Someone clever and collected, not a hot-headed youth. And someone ambitious, certainly not an attention-needing, insecure coward. And there was no one else that deserved to sit on a golden throne with a crown carved on it diamond jewels and inaugurated as emperor, no one but himself that was fit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But there ought to be something not to get wrong about Jschlatt. It didn’t bother him too much, Wilbur and his dictatorship. Schlatt wasn’t known to be a righteous man. He was there to have a blast at a party, to be in charge and reign chaos and change things around this dull place. And so, it did bother him that he wasn’t ruling such a magnificent empire, the floor for his very much alcoholic party. He knew, perhaps, how to be a good leader. He knew the essentials, the basics, the tactics and how to abuse them if needed. But what he also knew is that being a good leader was a lot of work. And that wasn’t something he wanted to do. His rule was going to be fun, exciting and entertaining. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was rightfully elected, too. There needn’t even be any extra intervention for victory of the election to be delivered to him. With a furry of power he had crushed his political opponents and just as he was about to banish them away in the name of good and in the name of justice, he was ripped of his title and thrown into a pit of darkness, underneath the floors of a castle that was not his. And he was angry as he was shocked, as furious as he was panicked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But once more without doing anything, the key to escape had presented itself to him once more. A deal with none other than the creator of the server, Dream himself. And soon, he promised himself as he fled the dungeon now a ruin of stone and broken cage bars, he would be back to take what was his, and even rightfully so. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He neatened his tie, walked with his back a little straighter and tried to dust his suit as he thought meticulously of all the ways he could use to get back on the tyrant that sure to have angered the people by forcefully dethroning him. L’Manberg should be in a state of disarray and chaos, for they lacked a leader they could all decide on to be the best.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know, Schlatt, know who is the new king?” Dream lifted a thick branch that hid conveniently an even more shabby path, and waited until everyone passed through before dropping it in a rustle of leaves, smudging their trail. It was alarmingly quiet and without even a single whimper of beast.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt froze at those words, his shoulders stiffening a little. A new king? That made his plans a little more difficult. “I- No. I was living in a hole the whole time, remember?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream chuckled slightly. “Well, his name is Technoblade, Wilbur’s brother. They’ve switched into a monarchy form of government.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never heard of him.” Four sharp words concluded the conversation, as they arrived at a valley which served nicely as a hiding place. Peeking down, one could see lava and ores of variety, more than enough resources to get back on their feet quickly and hopefully, by then, formulate a plan to get back on l’Manberg. A different person on the throne, a different name for the government, yet it was all the same, Jschlatt knew. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, this is as far as we’ll go. Schlatt, don’t forget about our deal, and I’ll see you around.” Punz followed as Dream left in a flash of bright green, and Jschlatt was left with Quackity standing over the edge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tch. Yah yah, will do. Quackity, get me a pickaxe.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Technoblade’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Days went by in anxiety, as no news could be delivered from the investigations. Untraceable, the incident was. The culprit of the explosions, the reason behind the grief, the whereabouts of the disappeared prisoners that were present in the midst of the events. Nothing. They could find nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whoever it was, and Techno was sure that it was an exterior force, for he himself had visited the dungeon and though not fancy, it was sturdy and functional at its purpose, especially against prisoners stripped of even a scrap of metal pricks, was either good or got lucky. Either way, to say he was frustrated at this lack of any clue, at this helpless, sudden situation was an understatement as the investigations continue to produce no fruit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Worst of all was the feeling that he had failed himself and everyone else. It forced him to lie awake at night, rethinking and reviewing the places he went wrong and the things he could’ve done as restlessness damped his bedsheet and traced black circles underneath wary eyes. Knowing Philza would be worried and wouldn’t be pleased, he had worn his skull mask more than before to attempt to hide his fatigue and exasperation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rubbing his temple he blinked several times, looking up from the paperwork to stare out the window at the sunny day outside. The blades of soft grass, the gentle breeze and puff of fresh air. He doesn't remember being outside since the spar he had with Tommy. Words had begun to blur even with his glasses, twisting and disfiguring into unrecognizable symbols, and so he rested his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey uh… thanks, you know, for coming when I needed it. L’Manberg… I know it doesn’t mean much to you, probably, but it means a lot to me. To us, Tommy and Tubbo as well. And… and I just want to thank you on behalf of them for… for helping. I know being a king probably isn’t easy, and that things aren’t exactly at its peak with the nation right now but I… I trust that your reign would lead l’Manberg in a better light. Even better than… than what I possibly could have ever done.” Wilbur had said as they stood shoulder to shoulder on the balcony a couple weeks ago. The conversation resurfaced in his mind and stung a little, but Techno let it continue to replay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno had stared down at the nation he was now assigned to rule. He took in each brick of the wall that he learned was paved by hand through the rain and the wind and the snow, and the song that was sung so enthusiastically and faithfully, before replying. “You’re welcome. I guess it was time for me to retire from potato farming by hand… Did you know I am going to build an even larger potato farm near the border of l’Manberg? Now that I’m king the citizens will be my goons and I don’t even have to pay them minimum wage! This is how you make infinite money, Wilbur. Politics are for casuals! The answer to everything is always slavery.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur had burst out laughing, “I’m gonna have to take what I said back then-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Noooooo I was kidding! That was a joke!” More chuckling had ensued before Techno added. “Plus, if you’re gonna thank anyone, thank Phil. He’s the one that dragged me here, really.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anyhow, I… I’ll see what I can do with this nation, Wilbur. Leave it to me.” He had said solemnly at the end, and Wilbur had smiled at him a small, gentle smile that told Techno that he believed him, that he trusted him. His words were like a promise, an oath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And now he felt like he failed. The first test of his kingship, of his judgment and decision, was the one about Jschlatt and Quackity, and he had failed. He had failed to keep his promise, failed Wilbur and Philza and Tubbo and everyone he was supposed to protect and be responsible for and he had failed, failed as a king, as a brother, as a son. It was a daunting, empty feeling that slowly chewed and gnawed from the inside, and only made his sleep schedule worsen with each passing of long days. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Questions circled him. Would Wilbur still say the same as he did that day, now that this had happened? Would Wilbur still thank him, trust him and believe him to be a leader even better than Wilbur himself would've been, like he had said that day?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that grave, Techno.” Philza had said on the thirteenth night in a row he found the light in Techno’s room bright lit after midnight while messaging the sore shoulders of the pig king. “Our options were exile or execution. If Schlatt and Quackity died, then that’s basically execution. If they somehow escaped, they’re basically exiled. It works out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Techno weren’t convinced that it was a good thing. The unanticipated event had robbed him of the choice to decide, and it left him just as anxious and stressed as he had been when he had the choice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More time passed until it was the day his last wave of scouts were to return, likely empty-handed like the others. It was his final attempt before the investigation was to be closed, for the amount of time and resources spent was no longer worthwhile. Techno was unfolding the letter right now, and it felt the voices peeking over his shoulders excitedly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In his angst he had been blocking out the voices for the past days, as well as everyone else around him. Now, he suddenly finds the whispers comforting, for they didn’t and have never given up on him, and were still with him so persistently, even when no one else is or could be. They distracted him from his suffocating thoughts, and promised him that he hadn’t failed them and would never be able to fail them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes glanced speedily across the short report of the scouts before widening. The scouts had heard rumours of Schlatt’s movement, and the fact that he was alive has been somewhat confirmed. It was strange, however, how he and Quackity managed to escape, as they have no associates or allies nearly powerful enough. Nevertheless, rumours came from somewhere, and Techno immediately got to work as the voices roared into life to offer him ideas.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bounty hunters were what he was going to send after them. People whose lives would be dedicated to capturing the fugitives and sending them back for a reward of grands. It might be an overkill, just slightly, but he had a haunch that something was off. “Where there’s smoke there's fire.” Technoblade mumbled to himself, as he wrote a letter to print a few, maybe more, wanted posters. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope I was able to capture Schlatt personality properly... it’s my first time thinking and writing in his P.O.V so tell me how I did!</p><p>Also, Techno is very stressed, and the voices, us, took pity and are trying to help him for now. When all is well again, though, the voices will still demand blood for the blood god.</p><p>Also also, the bounty hunters are not gonna be extremely important nor are they possibly gonna even show up again in future chapters. Just really wanted to create some irony; Canon!Techno was hunted down by Quackity, now it’s uno reverse time.</p><p>Also also also, reminder that line means time skip.</p><p>Thank you for all the kudos and support as well as the comments! Feedbacks are amazing &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. There Has Always Been More Enemies Than Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Forgive your enemies, but never forget their names.” - John F. Kennedy</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Tommy’s P.O.V</span>
</p><p> </p><p>    “Why did you call me here Wilbur?” He shouted with slight agitation in his voice. A hand over his eyes he climbed up the small hill, the sun peeking out behind it making it impossible to see anything but Wilbur’s tall shadow casted alongside something else.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you see this tree, Tommy?” His own hair was set aglow and shined like golden strands as he reached the peak and found Wilbur with his hand on the bark of a tree. Tommy’s eyes slightly widened as he recognized the branches and the location and the words Wilbur was speaking, so familiar it was as if he had seen it, heard it all before, Wilbur continued, “You know, I have pictures of l’Manberg when it was first built, pictures of what it looks like now and what it looked like before. And every tree has been destroyed during the war, Tommy. Techno, you know about the war too.” </p><p> </p><p>Tommy just noticed the silent presence of Techno, who nodded. Wilbur’s voice was serious, solemn. “But if you compare those pictures, this very tree is still standing in the exact same place that it spawned. This tree is an OG tree, the last of its kind.” </p><p> </p><p>“So guys, can we agree to keep this tree untouched, no matter what happens? If there would be any fighting, any wars, any… anything like that. Let’s make that a rule, okay? In fact, let’s name it…” Tommy remembered this conversation well. It had happened before November 16th, just a few days before it all went wrong. The ominous sensation weighed heavily on his shoulders as he watch Wilbur scribbled a couple of words. </p><p> </p><p>L’Mantree. A turmoil of emotions surged within him as he watched Wilbur smile proudly at the sign, blissfully unaware of the future, of all the dreadful memories Tommy now carry, of when and where and how things went wrong. Before his eyes flashed briefly an image of present day l’Manberg, merely a crater on the surface of the Dream SMP, a ruin of what was once a glorious, truly magnificent brought to its knees within only a few hours. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy looked away. Melancholy hadn’t hit as hard as it had just now, and he found himself unable to speak, to respond to Wilbur, for it will betray how much he was trembling. Trying to regain his composure, he tried to busy himself with something else, plucking the ground absentmindedly. Abruptly there was a sudden movement at his left, and he was glad for the distraction, if only for a few moments. Upon squinting his eyes, however, his heart dropped.</p><p> </p><p>Dream.</p><p> </p><p>A dash of a neon green, and Dream landed in front of them with a trident. “Good-... afternoon, is it?” Dream greeted. The same taunting smile looked as if it grew wider as he looked at them, silence in the air for a moment. Tommy shifted, inching closer to Wilbur and slightly hiding himself behind him. </p><p> </p><p>Techno was the first to speak. “What are you doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah yes, it is my pleasure to meet your majesty. Well, I believe there’s no rules against my mobility to come and go as I please, unless that’s something new you’ve implemented during your reign, something that I’m not aware of?” Tilting his head a little, Dream bowed slightly before rising. Normally one would only sense a nonchalant attitude radiating from the strange man, but Tommy knew otherwise. Tommy sensed a hint of disdain, an air of mockery and sarcasm, within Dream’s what he was sure feigned politeness.</p><p> </p><p>Techno, too, seemed to have noticed as he narrowed his eyes. “No, I don’t believe I implemented such rules. But this seems like something more than just a passing-through. Frankly, it seems like you have a hidden agenda. There’s really no need to beat around the bushes here Dream.”</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t, then.” Dream grinned warily, “I want to keep a good relationship with l’Manberg. I know we’ve had our…” He gestured to the air before deciding on the word, “differences, but we’re past that. This is a new page for l’Manberg, a new administration, a new rule. A new era. And I think we should leave the past in the past, and that, as our land makes us practically neighbours, we should help each other instead of, well, needless fighting and conflict.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was unusually silent, having not spoken even once throughout all the things Dream was saying, all the things that Tommy deemed needed correction. The only thing stopping Tommy, however, from bursting out and acting like what some might consider immature, was indeed the thing that Dream wanted to leave behind and forget. The ‘past’. More specifically, the actual past. Tommy’s past. It taught him that it wouldn’t do anything, anything at all, to have interrupted Dream. All he could do, right now, was to listen, and for once, he was willing to. </p><p> </p><p>However he still added, almost uncontrollably, yet too quietly, “You’re still not getting to the point here, Dream.” </p><p> </p><p>Dream chuckled, but a glare was sent his way, and Tommy couldn’t help but wince. “My point is, Tommy, that I want to help. I want to help l’Manberg, and I want to help everyone in l’Manberg. And I want to start by providing crucial… security. Protection, per say.”</p><p> </p><p>“Protection against what?” Techno raised an eyebrow, not even trying to hide his skepticism. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’ve seen the wanted posters, I’ve heard about the whole explosion incident. I have reasons to think they’re alive as well...” Dream deadpanned, “From Schlatt and Quackity, of course. Wilbur, they’re your former political enemies, and I have a feeling they did not accept their loss with grace and humility. Nor did they do so with their imprisonment, and Techno’s inauguration and- I could go on.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur finally spoke. “Why would we need protection from two people? If they’re alive, which is not confirmed, they’re armourless, weaponless, and have no known allies of any sort. They’re powerless to do anything, and should give up on any ideas of...an overthrown, for example.” </p><p> </p><p>Tommy felt himself grow colder. The idea of an overthrown hit too close to home. He answered Wilbur, who was slightly taken aback, “Well I mean it is possible… They can gather resources, acquire allies.” He remembered all too clearly, the history and how it all went down with Pogtopia, with November 16th. Oh, how the tables have turned. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you know about their escape?” Techno inquired sharply, taking a step forward.</p><p> </p><p>Dream shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing much. Not more than you, I suspect. I’ve heard of… rumours that got caught by the wind. Sapnap is good with those. The point is, I can provide protection, if and when they eventually do… act and things go south. Do you accept it, though?”</p><p> </p><p>“At what cost will these ‘protections’ be provided?” Technoblade said with crossed arms.</p><p> </p><p>“Spirit, the leather of my dead horse. I know Tommy has it.” Dream’s voice grew piquant all of a sudden, rid of the cloying pretense previously. Tommy stiffened at the mentioning of his name, even more so as Dream directed his gaze to him, waiting expectantly.</p><p> </p><p>“We appreciate you for the offer, but l’Manberg doesn't need your help as of now.” Technoblade cut in before Tommy could open his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Dream ignored Techno, “Tommy?”</p><p> </p><p>At once, his old self spiked for a moment and with furrowed brows he shouted with clenched fists, “You know what, no. Hell no.  F*ck you Dream, I don’t need your crappy protection! L’Manberg is fine on its own and Techno already said no!”</p><p> </p><p>Dream sighed, shaking his head at the bombardment of profanities. “Well, this won’t be the last time I offer, but it might be too late by then. I’ll take my leave then.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yah, suck it d*ckhead.” Tommy yelled at the back of the green figure as Dream left as quickly as he came. It was really like Techno said. An agenda was all Dream had.</p><p> </p><p>Techno turned, heading back to the castle, but not before saying, “He’s sketchy. There’s no proof, but it’s best to not associate too much with him. It could be a trap, after all, considering his past relations.” Wilbur nodded and so did Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>Oh he knew all too well how wise it was not to associate too much with Dream. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">Tubbo’s P.O.V </span>
</p><p> </p><p>When the explosions happened, he  had found himself in an endless abyss, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness as he floated just above oblivion. Vaguely he had realized that he fainted somehow. Falling between a realm of memories and dreams shrouded by pitch darkness, he reached forward and grasped in front of him, trying to shake himself awake. His awareness was ripped away from him as he felt himself drop downward and downward, and with a blink of his eyes he plummeted into the reminiscence of what felt like a distant past.</p><p> </p><p>“Trust me. Jesus for once in your life Tubbo trust me!” Tommy had shouted to Tubbo, who had turned his back towards his friend coldly. The disc had weighed heavily in his pocket,  the very burden of the decision making his head ring with ache.</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo spinned his heels, throwing his hands by his side. His voice was forbidding and indifferent, yet unexplainable emotions were a turmoil within him.“I did trust you. Once. The first time all of this happened.” Tubbo gestured around him, as he looked around to find all sorts of different faces staring down at them from the edge of the pit, the hole that was once the community house. “And I won’t make the same mistake twice.” His hand, with the disc in hand, had moved towards Dream, who still stood and silent, waiting patiently and watching tentatively. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy had grabbed Tubbo’s wrist, gripping it away so hard that the disc almost flew out of his hand. “Don’t you dare.” </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo winced, jerking out of Tommy’s gasp. His frowning glance was met with Tommy’s as his former friend hissed, his  voice filled with conviction. “You know, you betrayed me.” </p><p> </p><p>Those words stinged and cut painfully. Tubbo didn’t want to hear them, didn’t want to believe that they were true, that Tommy meant what he said. Blindly he grabbed the first thing he saw. Tommy jumped back, giving out a short, sharp cry. “Did you just- did you just get out your axe?! You what- you wanna try- Everything! All of these sacrifices this is what Wilbur- You betrayed everything. You know what? You got your axe up?” </p><p> </p><p>Tommy had launched forward with his own axe, pushing Tubbo back. Water was splashing around them from all sides, their arena cramped and their sleeves dampened with each swing. As axes slashed down at shields in a crack of wood Tubbo found himself incredibly numb. It barely registered what he was doing as he dodged an overhand slice.</p><p> </p><p>“Look at what you did! You betrayed me, you left me to die!” Tommy was shouting, yet Tubbo couldn’t hear him beyond his only chaotic thoughts and the splashing of water.</p><p> </p><p>“You betrayed me.” Tommy kept saying those words. They echoed, repeating in his mind until it was unbearable. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo shouted back, trying desperately to defend himself, as anger seeped back into his voice. “I didn’t betray you- You from the very start you-!” </p><p> </p><p>“Tubbo the discs! The discs! The discs were worth more than you ever were!” Tommy yelled, his eyes clouded by fury. Frustration. Hurt. </p><p> </p><p>A light gasp sounded all around them from those who only stood and watched, as Tommy backed away, hand covering his mouth. Everything was quiet as those words sunk in. Tubbo broke out of his trance, his lips quivered uncontrollably as his axe dropped onto the floor. “W-what?” The words burned into his memories. </p><p> </p><p>“No-just… just give him the disc.” Tommy had said with hunched shoulders, his eyes on the floor, his hands in fists. He was admitting defeat. Still stunned by Tommy’s words Tubbo had placed the discs in the hands of someone who had smiled quietly down at him. </p><p> </p><p>And everything went wrong from that point. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, thank you for giving me the disc. You are an absolute idiot.” Dream grinned at them mockingly, putting Mellohi away in an ender chest so fast it was gone in a flash of purple.</p><p> </p><p>Everything went wrong because Tommy and he were fighting. Because he had chosen l’Manberg over his best friend. Because he was stupid, stupid enough to listen to what Dream say, to play exactly as the puppeteer wanted. </p><p> </p><p>He was suddenly aware that Technoblade, too, was not a friend.“Oh I’ve got a few withers Dream. We could work something out.” </p><p> </p><p>And then Tubbo blinked, and a gust of wind had been pushed into his lungs as he sat up on the hard, solid floor, the first thing he saw being Tommy’s wide, blue eyes. “You’re awake! Thank god Tubbo.” Tommy shouted into his ears, arms around him in an instant as Tubbo remembered where he was. A slash of pain stinged on his cheeks and his arm was purple and blue, his knee trailed with drips of crimson blood. All of his limbs were bitterly cold and had almost lost their senses, yet he felt inflamed by the small sparks of flames and gunpowder that blanketed his black surroundings.</p><p> </p><p>Right. They were in the past now, the past where everything was fine except that he and Tommy had gotten into a fight again. Just another of their countless fights, wasn’t it now? They used to never have fights. </p><p> </p><p>“I-I’m sorry Tommy.” He muttered to himself weakly, interrupting whatever Tommy was saying. A heartbeat later, and the arms around him tightened as Tommy mumbled an apology as well. And they were good again, as Tommy flashed him a faint grin which he returned wholeheartedly before he was pulled out his feet and led to the castle for treatment on his wounds.</p><p> </p><p>But the memory had reminded him of something. Dream was, more than anyone or anything, their gravest, most dangerous enemy, and Dream isn’t in a jail in this world. The realization made his blood run cold, made him feel foolish to have forgotten, in the midst of all the reminiscing, the threat a particular someone had posed. How by forgetting, they were risking to repeat all their mistakes again. But it wasn’t just Dream, either, he realized as he sat for long moments on the floor as Tommy tried to explain what happened in a fast frenzy of words, as he stared up at the people around them with a sudden alert. He saw Fundy, who had given up on l’Manberg in its final moments, his loyalty faltering as he descended into somewhat of a feverish insanity. He saw Niki, who with a flash of pink hair had burned down the l’Mantree in all its glory and diminished even the last of the last of hope there was of winning, who had saluted calmly in the midst of all the anguish. He saw Philza, who had helped spawn the withers and had celebrated over l’Manberg’s fall. At last he saw Technoblade, who had unleashed hounds and instigated chaos, transforming alongside Dream l’Manberg into nothing but a crater in the earth, unfixable, unmendable.</p><p> </p><p>They were not friends, he had realized on that day a week ago with a choking sensation. They were not all to be trusted.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on Tubbo, you’re the one who wanted to build this, so let’s get started!” Philza's voice called out, snapping Tubbo into the present and out of the memory of the day of Jschlatt’s disappearance. He found himself standing on soft grass, and felt not the tight, stiff clothing of l’Manberg uniform but the gentle fabric of a black and yellow striped shirt and jeans. His bee suit. </p><p> </p><p>They were going to make a bee house, Tubbo suddenly remembered. His smile stretched slightly forcefully he shouted as he ran towards Philza, “Coming!”</p><hr/><p><br/>Wiping a strand of pearls of sweat off his forehead he looked up with hands on his hips and a smile more genuine than previously glistening brightly underneath the sun as he took a step back to admire it. What looked more like a temple or a church than a bee house stood tall and gloriously as an extension to the castle, and bees were already buzzing about on top of crimson petals of roses and tall grass. The past and all its burdensome memories was temporarily forgotten during the construction of the structure, and looking at it now Tubbo let a wave of triumph and pride wash over him, a feeling rarely experienced for his own accomplishments. He held out a hand for a bee to land on his rosy finger, the striped bee tickling him a little as it nudged him slightly before flying away with a flurry of wings. </p><p> </p><p>He grinned to himself, enjoying the peacefulness of the scene as he watched the bees work hastily on their hives. Philza was standing beside him, looking pleased as well. “Well this turned out really well, didn’t it Tubbo?”</p><p> </p><p>Out of the corner of his eyes, however, Tubbo caught the faint hint of a frown as Philza swallowed before speaking again, approaching the subject carefully. “I was thinking, Tubbo…”</p><p> </p><p>“The explosions that took place in the dungeon as well as the disappearance of Jschlatt and Quackity… T-there’s rumours that they’re alive, you know? I’m sure you’ve seen the wanted posters and all that. Everyone’s just been quite stressed lately. I see Wilbur working hard on papers and such, Techno is not sleeping properly and-”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo had noticed the tension in the air following that day, noticed the distress, and not even the slightest of effort was put into hiding it, visible clearly on the adult’s faces. A little selfishly, however, he had found himself only focusing on Tommy, and as his friend hadn’t seemed bothered, he himself wasn't concerned about the situation. </p><p> </p><p>“It just got me thinking, you know. What if- and I haven’t run it through with Techno yet.” Philza was saying, though Tubbo had stared off into the distance pensively.</p><p> </p><p>It was back to that question again, the one he keeps coming back to. The question of choice. He no longer liked being a pushover, of not having any say, of being bossed around silently. He learned that from experience, from his own execution. No one was going to look out for him forever, nor was that what he wanted. Yet, when he did have the choice, he made the wrong one. It hurts his brain to think about it, to contemplate on which was better. He remembered the dread, the cold realization as he looked at the fireworks pointed at him and then to the distance, at Wilbur and Tommy, expecting, pleading them to do something, only to find nothing done before a crimson screen blurred his vision. He remembered, also, his comrades and their polar encouragement as they overcrowd his own thoughts yet at the same time, left all the weight, all the responsibility, all the blame, on him with Tommy’s exile. </p><p> </p><p>Philza was gesturing in the air, waving one hand as if picturing a grand scheme. “What if, Tubbo…”</p><p> </p><p>Of course, Tubbo didn’t fully have the choice in neither situation; there were many factors, like always. Dream’s carefully chosen words, the pressure of finally making a decision on his own as the president, the self-righteousness he felt and yearned for — he wasn’t Schlatt and will never be Schlatt — all those things were what had pushed him to reach the resolution. </p><p> </p><p>“What if we have a festival?”</p><p> </p><p>And Tubbo felt his blood run dry and cold.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And nothing bad ever happens at a festival, am I right guys?</p><p>Also, Dream is acting sus. It’s as if he already knew something bad is going to happen. If so, why is he offering them protection though? Guess we’ll see.</p><p> <br/>Flashbacks are hard to do in writing. Thanks for all the support and don’t forget to comment if you want to!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Pawns of War</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“At the end of the game, the king and the pawn go back in the same box.” - Italian proverb</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Dream’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Few knew of Dream’s base. Those who did were not tempted to bring attention to it. It was an isolated, unnoticeable thing, barely enough to be called a bunker, and one that, for as much as the world is aware, could be considered abandoned as even Dream himself rarely visits and therefore provided no reason for others to explore. Even Dream’s oldest, closest acquaintances are left alone and in the dark of the fact that Dream’s base, though it appears shabby and quite worn, holds a valuable place in Dream’s mind and was actually quite frequently visited by none other but the masked owner himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With one hand, in black fingerless gloves that reached his forearm, Dream chuckled as he grazed the iron doors placed by Sapnap to grief the base that had failed, to his disappointment, to remain secret. He had left those doors there all for the purpose of making it look more abandoned and deserted, the next best thing to hide the place from more attention, and he had succeeded, so far, in doing so. With a snap of his wrist a wooden gate opened and shut behind him as he swam through the narrow hole, emerging into a bigger room on the other side. He threw a dismissive glance at the thin sheet of dust blanketing the several chests of his things as well as stacks of furnaces and crafting tables lining the wall and the cobwebs adorning the corners as he walk pass, as this room was empty of important items and there only to serve the same purpose as the iron doors: a facade to hide his presence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream was well aware that a long time ago, all the way back during The Disc Saga, Tommy and Tubo had found the base with a composter glitch, and that the last time the bunker was visited by anyone but himself was by Sapnap and Tommy, seeking and failing to steal some blaze rods. He also knew that, though the three had explored the place throughout, they had missed an important detail. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the place and the flick of a small switch and the redstone flared up, the walls parting and letting him through like Moses and the ocean. A firm click and the walls collapsed back behind him, while a long corridor dimly lit by candlelight was unveiled before him, water trickling at his feet. The flames of the torches casted a long hooded figure along the walls on which dancing shadows trailed and taunted his steps as Dream, with the water and his trident, made his way swiftly by swirling into the air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obsidian replaced the stone hallway as he descended down another tunnel before finally arriving at a dark, small room. There was only one simple wooden dining table with one chair, a smithing table and a stonecutter table at the side. The table was pushed against a wall of glass, and on the table was a classic chess board. Sitting on the black and white squares were scattered wooden figurines unusual and unique to its own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream has found himself in this very same room for hours or even days at a time before, occupied with his own thoughts and plans. Woodcrafting was a skill that, like with many other things, few knew he had, and time was chipped away along with the wood splinters that were left littered about the table as he hand-crafted each pawn and each chess piece with the patience and delicacy of a loving mother. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked almost affectionately at the figurines and a smile tainted with a hint of wickedness grew behind his mask as he slipped into that only chair and studied the pieces sharply. There was one with messy brown hair and a pair of round glasses, wearing a blue shirt with a tag in the middle, another one wearing a white bandana and a fire design carved at the front. One has his hair puffing out at one side, another has horns while another has fox features. A white hoodie featured a loyal de-facto leader, similar crowns with only a pair of sunglasses and pig features to set them apart represented an agreeable king and one slightly less so. So many more were placed seemingly randomly onto the gridded board, faceless yet not nameless. He even held a place for captured pawns. So far, it was empty. Few, however, still had three canon lives left. Death was merely retirement from Dream’s game, after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream strokes the pieces on the board, toying with them between his fingers. “Tommy...and Tubbo.” He murmured before humming a haunting tune, picking up the two figurines and holding them up to the torchlight to examine better their intricate features. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He studied the matted blond curls, worned bandana around the neck, red short sleeves. Another, brown, flat hair, green shirt and lapis eyes. One was a nuisance, loud and immature, impulsive and arrogant. One was a coward, a pushover, someone to be used and manipulated. However…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy seemed… different. He was… more hesitant, as if afraid. Quieter, as if weary of something, as if sensing an ominous air. More mature, perhaps. It was hard to grasp the words to exactly describe what changed but something, indeed, had been different. And while Dream was somewhat curious as to what brought about this change, he was more interested in how to best exploit this… this fear, Dream realized. It was fear that he saw refracting grimly in the child’s eyes, fear rooting from something much more complex and traumatizing. More cautious, Tommy appeared to be, and that raised a slight concern. It was fascinating nevertheless, what fear could push someone to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The past interactions and peculiar encounters with the boy flashed before his eyes. The Disc Saga. The Discs, Mellohi and Cat. L’Manberg. The war. One thing leading to another, and Dream found himself moving the pieces on the board, toying with the little figurines as they were placed carefully, to make Dream the winner and the owner of absolute power. It became what he was almost obsessed with, addicted to, the feeling of control and the tightness of the strings tied around his fingers with which he used to control mere marionettes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thinking back to the present, he narrowed his eyes at the board. He had designed the room so that the table was pushed against a wall of glass, so through the mirror he could see the other side, the opponent’s side, and how the pawns were arranged in his enemy’s point of view. It had always been entertaining to imagine the different opponents playing this same game of chess with him. There was Tommy. Then was Wilbur. Technoblade, too, would join his little play. He was sure there would be many more others. Each time his opponent would sit down believing the winner was already decided, and so did Dream, though they had different winners in mind. A smirk broke out at the thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the end, however, sitting there alone, it almost seemed as if he was only playing against himself. Through the mirror he saw his own stoic smile staring back blankly. Shaking away that thought, he placed back the two pieces in their right positions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He saw the figurine representing himself, placed in the king’s position, and fell into deep thought. By his side lay his most loyal knights, agile and willing at all times therefore unpredictable, Punz and Sapnap. His bishop rested closer, George and Eret, though they have less mobility, for George enjoyed sleep better than the wars and Eret… a rat’s loyalty ought not to be trusted, after all. One willing to betray his friends for an empty title and throne should only be used cautiously and strategically. Dream and he weren’t even friends at that level, so there was even less guarantee than when he left Dream’s arch-nemesis. Rooks, powerful and sudden, were usually reserved for the last. His rooks weren’t represented by people, but by objects, abstract or physical. His authority as the unofficial yet renowned leader of the Dream SMP. His various sources and materialism, his many allies and power. The Discs. These were all handy examples. One of them, at certain times, could even be fitting as the Queen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Directing his glance towards the last row, he grinned. Pawns. They were his all time favourites. A well placed pawn is always so amusing and at times, so much more powerful than a king. Pawns came in many shapes and many forms, and were not defined in his game or should be, in any game. Sometimes his enemies' allies were his pawns. Perhaps himself, from his enemies perspective, was a pawn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was just always so interesting, utterly intriguing, to watch the figurines that sometimes, sometimes, Dream needed reminders that they were real people. Moving, living people, with feelings and thoughts akin to his own, not inanimate pieces of wood carved with his own roughened hands. Somedtimes, though, he didn’t care. He didn’t care for the differences between his chess pawns and the people they actually represented. On days like those he was unusually heartless and cold, and his friends, unaware of what brought about the change, would avoid him. A bad mood, they would simply wave it off as, for Dream would usually return to his normal, tea-kettle wheezing self the next day or two. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Little did they all know. It was all for the best, perhaps, he thought as he flashed back to Sapnap and George and their unconcerned, unweighted laughters. He needs only their help and support, not their advice or option, after all. Thinking till the point, Dream noticed a letter placed at the small workbench in the corner. George must have left it there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had built this base very early, and it was perhaps even the oldest structure in the Dream SMP. So of course George was there when it was built, and knew its whereabouts, and knew that Dream came here frequently. George didn’t understand, of course, what reasons he had to come here, for Dream hid the chess pieces upon each of his exit. Reaching from his chair and grasping the letter he peeled off the red, formal seal. A thin sheet of dust had roughened the surface of the paper, so it looks as if the mail has been sitting here for a couple of days. He pulled the letter out only to find a name most peculiar of all to be sending a letter from him:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“From Technoblade….. interesting.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Philza’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rain bashed themselves against the windows, rattling them as the howling wind sent the curtains into a wild parade. The sky, its usual soothing blue shrouded by a grim, swirling grey, was split and shattered by flashes of lighting. Thunder roared and shook the ground. The storm wailed, branches of trees waving in the midst as rivers flourished and extended their fingers far past the shoreline with wild, towering waves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Philza was humming a rather cheerful tune on such a cloudy day. Sitting in one of the many libraries that occupied the rooms of this castle, he had a chair opposite to him and a cup of hot cocoa, which he wrapped loosely around with his hand to contain the warmth. Patiently he was waiting for a particular person, his excitement of being invited to this old tradition they once had slightly more jaded with each passing second.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A glance out the window was enough to betray the concern in his  eyes. Technoblade was never late, after all. Should Philza go check? Could he have run into trouble? Just as he was indecisive as to rise or sit more firmly in his seat he was exempted from the choice as the door creaked open and Techno walked in, his eyes widening just a little in what Philza thought to be delight when Techno noticed his presence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah Phil. I feel that it’s been a while, had it not, since we’ve done something like this?” Techno said as he seated, opening the box prepared for him to pull out a board and many pieces. “What do you say, an old game of chess for this lovely evening?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eager to, Phil nodded, helping with the positioning of the figurines. Once everything was arranged the chess game started, and a pair of glasses was placed on the bridge of Techno’s nose as silence fell. Nothing could be heard beside the fire crackling cheerfully within the hearth as it casted dancing shadows along the walls. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The library which they were in had, upon Techno’s request, been fashioned to something akin to their old cabin in the Antarctic. A comfortable old room, the carpet slightly faded and the furniture very plain in contrast to the rest scattered about in the castle; for a good picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums and Christmas roses — used to mimic the winter in their old place — bloomed in the windows and a pleasant atmosphere of home peace and nostalgia prevailed it. It was one of Techno’s favourite rooms, Philza knew, and he could see very clearly why.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, we haven’t talked like we used to ever since your inauguration.” Philza begins, finding himself almost, just slightly, nervous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not looking away from the chess board, Techno raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Philza tried not to fumble his words. “I mean, I know we talked about L’Manberg but, you know, not like we used to. We talked like an advisor would to a king. I want to talk from a friend to another, a family to another, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence once more. It wasn’t awkward, but Phil didn’t find it pleasant either. He tried to focus on the chess game, but his mind was elsewhere. Hesitation came before he moved his knight in front of a bishop. “Life is really like a chess game.” He mumbled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not an uncommon analogy.” Techno responded, shifting his bishop to aim at Phil’s pawn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Philza chuckled slightly uneasily “It’s a cool representation. It’s like you're the king, figuratively and literally. And I’m.. I don’t know, the knight, maybe? Or the bishop…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as he spoke, his knight which he had placed to protect the pawn was snatched by the queen in a swift motion, making him jump slightly at the unexpectedness. “Don’t say that. It’s bad omen. All the king does is sit there while the people around him commit all the violence and maybe die in the process.” Techno said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil laughed, a little more at ease. “It won’t be bad omen if the knight belonged to someone good at chess and didn’t get captured!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a pause. Phil moved his bishop to protect the head pawn, and waited for Techno’s turn. Philza continued, “I’ve noticed that you’ve been… tense, lately. Pensive. It’s been, what? Three month? That’s a quarter of a year you’ve been king for. And I… I can tell that it has taken a toll on you and-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno cut in, waving his hand as if to dismiss the thought. “I’ll be fine, Phil. There’s no need to worry about me. I’ve been sleeping better recently. Taking more breaks. I just needed some time to get used to the whole thing was all.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- I know, Techno, I know. It’s just that… I feel like we could have some sort of… holiday. You know, take an entire day off. Relax a little. It’s been a while but the whole Schlatt thing has gotten everyone very tense. And as the advisor, Techno, and as a friend, I propose that we, l’Manberg, have a festival. Invite some people outside of l’Manberg, even.” Techno’s eyes widened a little at the idea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another pause. Techno shifted his Queen against Phil’s bishop. “Well sure. It’s a nice idea, and I don’t see why not.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil moved away his bishop and slid his only knight into position, his heart steadying as he was glad to have the festival settled. “You know, l’Manberg has been doing great under your rule. We’ve almost got fully enchanted netherite, we’ve got the villagers in the basement and many new recruits. Ranboo, Awesamdude, and the others. You even got a new horse, Carl. Oh, and did you know Wilbur wrote a national anthem for l’Manberg?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yah, he showed me. It was nice.” Techno replied, his eyes still not meeting Phil’s. Techno’s Queen thrashed against Philza’s Queen, which rolled over and was placed in the box for captured pieces. A hidden smile glinted in Philza’s eyes, but his main focus wasn’t on the game.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Philza frowned at Techno’s responce. “You seem very troubled, my friend. A penny for your thoughts? A trouble shared is a trouble halved, after all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno chuckled lightly at the expression and slowly shook his head before halting, as if hesitating. Eventually he heaved a deep sigh, clasping one hand over his eyes and resting his chin on the other. Concern only grew within Philza, and with it came the sinking sensation of realization that he was failing to take a part of the burden that came with being a king. He looked for something he could do. Anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> He had promised himself that he would help Techno through his rule that day when the mail came, for he looked so unwilling at first to agree to Wilbur’s plea. It was as if he came only upon Phil’s request, and there were so many things wrong with that. But there was nothing. He could only watch and do nothing. Helplessness seeped into his thoughts as the voices within him shouted for him to help Techno. They, the voices, were loud today. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was nothing he could do, nothing but to distract him and Techno for a brief moment. He lifted his horse and placed it gently in front of his bishop. “Checkmate.” he grinned a little, though his worries did not cease.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took a blink for Techno to realize it, but after he did his pensive expression broke into a smile.  “Oh. Heh. I didn’t expect that. I would’ve never… Can’t believe you sacrificed the Queen for that move. Almost feels like a metaphor for something.” Techno stretched before pushing out his chair to better study the chess board. He glared so intently at the board and each piece as well as where they lay in their final position, it was as if he could replay each move in his head to find out where something went wrong. “Well played. You know what they say: we learn little from victory, but much from defeat.” It almost seemed as if Techno had more to say, and so Philza smiled, nodded and waited.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno finally caved after another long moment of silence. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Phil.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Philza approached cautiously. “Go on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno paused once more, as if unsure where to start,“Like you said, L’Manberg has been doing relatively well, excluding a few minor setbacks. We’ve gained materialism, and we’ve increased in population. A strong country needs both at a steady balance and steady growth, Phil. However, a citizen’s attachment and therefore loyalty is based on their property. All the people we recruited? They need to stay here and live here. That will not only tie them emotionally but physically to our country.” Philza nodded. That makes sense to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade continued. “But the problem we’re facing right now, Phil, is that we have the people, and we have the resources to build them houses, but we don’t have the space. We don’t have room. Now, I’m not proposing by any means taking away the walls, but building outside the walls is still acceptable. Acceptable, that is, if L’Manberg’s territory stretched that far. L’Manberg’s border does not stretch that far, which means we need to extend it into the Dream SMP. ” Techno gestured his hand towards the outside of the window, towards the vast line outside the walls of l’Manberg. Phil was slowly realizing what Techno was hinting towards, and his eyebrows furrowed with alarm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In layman's terms, more people, more goons, more potatoes, more everything. But people also need houses, and houses need space. There’s not enough space around here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Philza was thinking along now, too. There were only two ways to fix the problem: peaceful negotiation or… he would rather that they don’t consider the later as an option. He interrupted Techno, proposing. “Talk with Dream. Maybe he can give us more room.” Dream is a reasonable fella, right? Surely he would understand-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno shook his head, burying his eyes in his palm,“I wrote a letter. He declined it, saying that it’s better for l’Manberg to remain as it is.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil gave a sigh, his mind racing. “So what do you suggest we do?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- I don’t want to seem crazy or something, Phil, and I know that.. That I haven’t been doing this for very long but…” Techno let out a chuckle, but it was rueful and not lighthearted, before he turned to stare at Phil with clouded yet intense dark eyes. Phil could see the tension in the shoulders of the other and the pressure of the decision, an invisible weight, that seemed to be anchoring them down.“Can I be completely honest with you, Phil?” There was a hint of desperation in those words, just a hint, betrayed by the slight cracking of his voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A gulp of dread, but without hesitation or lacking conviction Philza answered, “Of course.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...I’m thinking of war.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For those who has no knowledge of how chess works and have no idea what the descriptions are talking about, I’m terribly sorry. For those pro chess players that can tell how terribly illogically the descriptions are, I’m also equally sorry ;P</p><p>Also a reminder that the line between the two perspective indicated a time skip. </p><p>Thanks for reading! What do you think of Technoblade’s proposition? Of course it would be devled into more in the future and Techno indeed does have a plan in mind instead of just a random reign of chaos. Wonder what Tubbo, Tommy and Wilbur’s reaction would be though... Comment below!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. No Place Like Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Home is people, not a place.” - Robin Hobb</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Wilbur’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was only too familiar with the movement as he folded it into another paper lantern and placed it next to the scrolls of colourful banners. It was sunny again after the series of cloudy days that followed the thunderstorm, yet he found his own mind to be clouded with something no amount of sunshine and gentle breezes could blow away. Eyes focused intently on the floor and his thoughts somewhere else, Wilbur completely didn’t notice when Fundy, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and hat low to cover his eyes, walked by him quietly and without a word. It was only the rustle of paws and the bright orange that shook Wilbur into the present just as Fundy was a few steps pass him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fundy! Could you help me with this?” He called out, and his son stopped abruptly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy turned slowly, his fox ears twitched a little as if to check if he heard wrong. Dark eyes peeped back at him as Wilbur gave Fundy a confused stare. “Uh sure, what are you doing?” Fundy lifted his hat as he answered casually, yet the glint in his eyes betrayed the excitement of a child given a treat. Something stirred within Wilbur. He hadn’t expected him to look so surprised or… pleased. Happy, even.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When was the last time he talked with Fundy alone? He couldn’t remember, but he was sure it was recently. Probably. He sighed, not willing to dwell on the thought. He was already busy enough, and one more thing to be concerned about wasn’t appealing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fold some paper lanterns while I go to the storage room. I’ll be back really fast.” He told Fundy, his voice cold. He couldn’t help it. He was just so fustrated by all the things he needed to do and he wasn’t in a good mood to begin with anyways. He had no patience or time to be wasted on his fox child. Wilbur was so caught up in his fuzz that he didn’t notice the sparkle in Fundy’s eyes fading and the edge of his lips trembling, hands curling into a fist. “Why do you need these paper lanterns anyway?” Fundy mumbled a low growl.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s for the coming festival. Philza said it should be decorated, and I was free so he told me to do it.” Wilbur answered as he fetched a few things from the storage, which upon opening the door had welcomed him with a puff of dust and dry coughs. He had to shout a little down at Fundy for him to hear. “You know, festival is a word very unconventional for a monarchy. In history it was more commonly referred to as a party, a ball or a masquerade of some sort. And- and that’s what I told Philza but the old man doesn’t listen, Fundy. Apparently Techno agreed on a festival, not anything else that was a festival in all but name, so a festival it will be!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh how much Wilbur hated being bossed around like so. Having an authority above him, being commanded to take care of affairs he was not and isn’t interested in being part of. It irritated him to no end, a bubbling discontent that collected easily and threatened to explode in a fury like the dungeon had all those weeks ago. He had been awfully patient and forgiving already; letting Technoblade do as he pleases with the country, making decisions, right or wrong, freely and without intervention or needed approval from him. He had waited and endured and tolerated for a very long three month now and he was growing sick of it. The king lacked the ambition needed to properly rule, yet whenever he suggested anything he always received the same similar response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s reckless.” Techno had told him straightforwardly, so very dismissive of his proposal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur had yelled across the room in gritted teeth, his pride wounded by those two simple words. How could he not even take it into consideration for one second? Was Wilbur, his dear brother, not worth a minute of his time? “That’s called being willing to take risks!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s called not playing it smart, and that’s not what I want to do.” Techno’s crown had caught a ray of light and refracted, flashing a mesmerizing golden flare. Wilbur’s eyes were fixed on it for a brief moment, a dangerous thirst seething like wildfire within him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings, Techno.” Wilbur muttered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And ambition without intelligence is wings without the bird. I would rather at least be a living organism, Wilbur.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If it’s Philza’s festival, where is he?” Fundy’s question interrupted his thought, drawing Wilbur back into the present. Wilbur’s eyes narrowed as he thought about the question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He is busy with Technoblade.” As he answered a tinge of bitterness seeped into his thoughts. Of course Philza was with Technoblade. Who else would the old man be with? Never even trying to hide the clear act of picking favourites yet always denying it stubbornly when mentioned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was not a moment in his childhood that Wilbur could recall where Phil had ever bothered to pay as much attention to him as he had with the pig king, nor could he remember a single time where he had outshine or outdone Technoblade in something. What he did remember was trying, very hard, to earn the approval that had been given as if for granted to his older brother. He remembered training, challenging Techno to duels until scraped knees turn into chunks of purple and blue and knuckles turn white. He remembered volunteering for every chores and behaving just so well in his own child standard, yet not receiving a single hint of recognition. He remembered getting in trouble and in fights by the street just to earn maybe a glance of acknowledgement, yet he was given nothing but scolding and grounding time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembered giving up, remembered moving out, remembered founding l’Manberg and feeling finally, finally pleased with himself, proud of one thing he has done. It would be silly to believe that that was all the reasons he had for creating an entirely new country, but he had indeed gained the approval, the recognition he always yearned for as the founder, the leader, the president, his name forever written in history with all its glory so very much his and not, per say, his brother’s. He still hadn’t gotten what he wanted from Phil, but that was fine. He had been content enough with what he had, for he now had l’Manberg. It was perhaps this reason that he had run for president with such aspiration and so desperately wanted l’Manberg to be his.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s eyes glanced sharply across the storage room before closing the doors firmly and dragging a roll of paper behind him as he walked back to Fundy. With that quick scan he took note that a set of chess board and pieces was missing. His eyes had broadened when he noticed before narrowing quickly, and his teeth gritted slightly harder, nails digging into his palm as he stormed out with fists as he was reminded of one unpleasant thing after the next.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night, in the storm, he had strolled the halls in search of Philza. As a child, he had always been afraid of the thunder that crackled and always shook the floor so very violently. In hindsight, it was almost akin to the explosions of TNT, which brought little good memories either. And so he had wanted to find Philza, maybe have a small talk about the stressful days that had followed after Schlatt’s and Quackity’s disappearance. It has been much time since they just chat like friends, if not family, free from the duties and affairs of managing the kingdom, and he had longed for a nice, deep conversation.  He had walked past a room, and out from it had came a puff of laughter that halted his steps. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Philza’s laughter. He had pressed his hands and ears against the door, trying to grasp the voices as he felt his heart drop. “I want to talk from a friend to another, a family to another, you know?” Philza was saying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh. Of course, he thought bitterly. Of course it would be with Techno that Phil would bother to spend time and be worried and talk with. Of course it was their chess matches that go late into the evenings, the ones they used to have back in their old home, the ones he never got to join because it was two players and the seats were always filled. Because Phil would never do that with him, probably never even crossed Phil’s mind that he might be needed elsewhere, that Wilbur had waited, as a child, for them to finish their game so he could be put to bed only for no one to come. There, standing outside the door, listening to the clacking of figurines against a board, listening to the soft chuckling and gentle words spoken, he had realized that nothing changed, that no one would, and no one did, notice as he ran away from the room, from what felt like childhood again with red eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur has always been much more fond of Poker, which was so much more inclusive and just as strategic. Chess was always such a lonely game. It wasn’t like he was good at chess, anyways. Thinking steps ahead was never his thing. He was much more like a spontaneous burst of energy rather than a consistent, continuous effort. Some called that rash. Some called it brave. Others called it insanity when taken too far. But Wilbur wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t insane.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not just yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Decorating the festival was long gone from his mind by the time he made it by Fundy’s side again with a blank stare, dumping the materials he got from the storage room onto the floor absentmindedly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur heard someone coming but he wasn’t looking their way. He was looking up at the castle towering above them, at the strong walls paved brick by brick, at the colourful flag freely soaring in the sky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>L’Manberg had made him feel at home more than that Antarctic cabinet in the woods ever had, and just for that, he was willing to wait a little longer. He was willing to endure a little longer of being a subordinate, of being second in both mental and physical rankings. He was willing to tolerate a little longer the inconsiderate ways those around him took care of things, of how they were managing the country that he founded, built, and was his. L’Manberg was his dream, his symphony, his home. And he was going to rule it himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just has to wait a little longer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Tommy that had walked up to them. “What’s up guys? What are all these things for?” The child asked nonchalantly, poking at the cloth and the paper lanterns.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s for the festival that Philza’s preparing.” Wilbur told him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy froze completely at those words. His mouth opened and was then closed, as if no word could be spoken. Wilbur raised an eyebrow and was about to ask him what’s wrong before Tommy mumbled. “I have to go.” Wilbur watched as he turned stiffly and sprinted away toward Tubbo’s bee farm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy put Wilbur’s exact thoughts into words, “Well what’s up with him?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Eret’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could smell trouble miles away, in the deepest caverns of distant mountains that served as refuge to those being hunted. Fingers gripping uneasily the frozen iron railing as Eret, King of the Dream SMP, looked out the window towards the soaring flag of a place whose name he no longer utter with pride and no longer smiled upon hearing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was quick to update himself about the new monarchy for l’Manberg, and he couldn’t help but be quite curious as to how a fellow king like him was doing. It has been months since the inauguration, yet any physical change could not be spotted from the height of his tower, and so he could only temper his curiosity with the bits of rumours and glimpse of news that slip out of those towering walls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He left the window, his heels making echoing steps throughout the palace. He took a seat on the stone throne made for him, his hands resting on the handles and feeling how cold it was underneath his touch, how hollow and empty the entire place was. His lips pursed, his thoughts returned to l’Manberg. Oh, how it made something twirl and twitch uncomfortably within him to know that King Technoblade, different from himself, would be surrounded with family and friends by his sides, people that he could rely on to carry the weight of his crown and advise him in time of need. Shifting the crown that weighed down on his hair, Eret became acutely aware of just how bitter his castle has become, how vacant of laughter and cheers and how lonesome his home, his crown and his power had made him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was it worth it, he often asked himself. Was it worth betraying all his friends, burning all ties and bridges, tainting all good memories and moments? Was it worth the bloodshot eyes glared at him, the crimson blood that splattered against the wall as shouts of anger and shock were bombarded upon him? Was it worth fighting for the cause he didn’t believe in, fighting alongside people he didn’t like, on the side against his friends that he only supported for his own selfish well-being? Was it worth forever changing history, and be forever remembered as a rat that became king for his deeds far from noble?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, he would think on days where he would walk near the fortress around l’Manberg, when he hears the distant laughter and cheers of familiar voices behind those thick bricks and imagined, knew, that had he not done what he did, he would be there with them. No, it wasn’t worth it, to go after a deal that had been so appealing before and now, was only tasteless. It wasn’t worth it, to have trade the trust bestowed upon him, a privilege he not only took for granted but had exploited, for the mere prize of a vacant palace and a hollow crown.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He rubbed his temple as a conversation that he had pondered upon again and again resurfaced. It was one that he had with Dream many weeks ago, when he asked, as subtle as he could for he feared—or knew—that he would be refused, about whether he could help l’Manberg in some way. From a king to another, he had explained. It’s just courtesy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream had narrowed his eyes before chuckling, the mere mocking sound chilling Eret’s spine. Dream had sat down in a chair across from him with his hand over the other. “So, as king of Dream SMP, which, that’s what you are, and have been-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Eret’s voice had sounded meekly quiet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream asked, gesturing at the castle walls that surround them before staring at the throne on top of which Eret sat, “As the king, what do you think gives you power? Respect? Your crown?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a dangerous question. Almost like a trick, a test where there’s no correct answer. Eret had remained silent. Dream had continued, “If respect is the only thing protecting you from a knife in your back, respect is nothing, right?” A gulp slid uneasily down his throat as Eret gripped the handle of his throne uncomfortably tight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me answer this, Eret. You don’t have power because of your crown,” Dream paused, chuckling again as if the idea was silly before deadpanning, “You, have power because of </span>
  <b>me</b>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jschlatt and their little rebellion against Wilbur and his country... you know, hopefully there’ll be neither afterwards. In the end, it will only be more land for you, right?” Dream had paused, as if waiting for an answer. Dream was asking a lot of questions that day, and each of them was, Eret was sure, as deadly a trap as the next. It was asked in the form of a hiss, and sounded like a threat in that sweet, sarcastic taunting voice.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a moment of dreadful, seemingly endless silence, Dream went on, “I felt like you’d be a good king because you’re neutral. You don’t- I feel like you don’t really push for power, you’re not very like, vengeful, you know? I feel like you don’t hold grudges, you’re very neutral. You just- you kind of- you’re kind of the head of everything. You sit there, and you look pretty, and that’s it, right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” His throat was rusty and dry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream repeated, his voice sharper, more demanding, “Right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes sire…” He forced the words out. Underneath the glare which Dream was studying him with, he felt powerless small yet the same time he wanted desperately to disappear, to fold and squirm even smaller in his seat until he was out of sight and had escaped the situation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream had leaned forward, whispering the last words against the shell of his ears so it could be heard clearly and burned forever into his memory, before leaving that day, “Just remember where your power comes from; Because it doesn’t come from a pretty little crown, it comes from an axe and a shield.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret had laid paralyzed in his chair for the rest of that afternoon, circling those words again and again until his eyes felt dizzy and his mind ached from thinking. Now, once more, he was caught in the reminiscence of that memory mixed with a sudden, abrupt homesickness. He looked around him, looked at the splendid yet vacant halls, looked at the luxurious yet cold crown, looked at the magnificent yet silent rooms empty of laughter, of family and friends and company, of joy and happiness and good memories. He looked and he couldn’t find a trace of it. Decisively he stood up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is not home.” He mumbled to himself before walking outside. An ominous weight and a sense of urgency washed over all his thoughts at once and his steps went from a walk to a sprint as he ran, out of the castle and onto the prime path. And he ran, his heart dangled in mid-air, to the place he last saw his friends. His family.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Final Control Room. And north from there, he knew, was where Jschlatt was and perhaps, Dream as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was time. Finally, it was time to stop letting Dream tell him what to do, what not to do. Finally, he could be rid of this cold, meaningless and empty crown, the throne that he sits in only for show and the castle only part of the facade that he’s in control of his own ‘kingdom’. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, he could go home.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wilbur didn’t hear a thing about the declaration of war and picked up on one of the more meaningless things said in that conversation in the storm instead. Well, you know what they say, ignorance is bliss! Also, Fundy is still alive! He doesn’t really speak or appear a lot, just like in the canon plot! That is, up until the point Wilbur died. We need to give more credit to the furry! </p><p>Speaking of Fundy, and this is an intentional connection, isn’t Wilbur’s feelings with Philza somewhat similar to what Fundy has with his father? Isn’t that slightly hypocritical..? Just there for people to dwell on ;)</p><p>About Eret, he really is starting to feel terribly lonely, especially now that he’s gotten Technoblade to compare with. Also, what do you think Eret’s gonna do when he confronts Dream? </p><p>Thanks for reading and drop a comment/feedback if you want!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Déjà Vu</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“A heart’s déjà vu is a sign of warning before repeating the same mistake.” - Iced Verses</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Tubbo’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brushed his hand against the blade of grass. Tubbo closed his eyes as he hummed a cheerful tune, enjoying the company of the soft buzzing of bees around him. His yellow and brown striped shirt camouflaged nicely as he collected some honey, finding a rare moment of peace and silent as he stuck a finger into the golden goo, a sweet, sticky taste left smudged on his face while his bee slippers tripped about briskly on the soft grass. He sat down with a jar of honey in the middle of all the blossoms and fluttering wings, a content smile making him look younger, more like his age, a silly kid goofing away a hazy afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought back to the original bee farm in the ‘future’, a place he rarely visited during his presidency. That title had worn him, tired him, drained the bright blue in his eyes. But he wasn’t in the ‘future’ right now, and so he shook the thought away, wishing nothing more but to be relieved of his worries and act as childish as his age just this once in the safety of the walls of his bee house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His back on the ground, the smell of warm soil around him and sunshine splashing through the glass, he heaved a deep breath and opened his eyes to the roof, which was transparent and allowed him to see a blue sky and lazy clouds drifting about, so slowly and luxuriously that Tubbo almost envied the white masses that passed time with such carefreeness and ignorance of everything below. It was then that he noticed something else amidst the clouds, something colourful and decorative. A paper lantern, he realized it was, ones that he saw Wilbur making for the festival. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The festival. It was a word that caused nothing but dread, unlike the cheerful carnival-like event it was supposed to represent. With the paper lanterns a reminder of the quickly approaching date of the festival, his hope of having a casual, carefree day was once again shattered as his thoughts quickly chewed on the topic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered liking festivals as a child. It meant games and toys, and had always promised fun and excitement. He remembered decorating a festival with his own hands, hanging banners and painting posters, organizing the event with enthusiasm and optimism. It wasn’t a bad idea to hold a festival; in fact, it was one of the better ideas Schlatt came up with. It’s just that if the purpose of the festival wasn’t a public execution, or more exactly, his own execution, Tubbo would maybe have a better impression of that day. The Red Festival, it’s name almost a perfect representation of the blood that stained the chairs and the floor and the little box Tubbo was locked in before his vision turned dark, blood tainted and absorbed into the ground, turning the earth into a dark crimson. </span>
</p><p>After the shock had resided from Philza’s abrupt proposal that day building the bee house, a proposal which he had responded with numb nods and dry, empty words, he had initially avoided thinking about it at all. He didn’t want to dwell on the impending day of potential death. He had always been a somewhat positive person, though people had confused this as cluelessness or cowardice before. But then he thought some more, and reasoned with himself, awake at night pondering and reassuring himself. The innocent have nothing to dread, he would repeat to himself until he believed it. He has done nothing wrong. There was no double-agent, no betrayal or overthrows—none that he knew of, at least—being planned. He couldn’t be executed because he hadn’t offended anyone, hadn’t done anyone wrong. They would have no reason to kill him. </p><p>
  <span>Right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve done nothing wrong.” Tubbo mumbled to himself, his voice almost inaudible amidst the buzzing ness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was suddenly interrupted by a series of rude thumping against the window of his paradise, and slightly annoyed he lifted his head toward the direction of the sound to find a messy nest of blond hair and lapis eyes peeking in, gesturing to him to come outside. Tommy. Tubbo sighed, his eyebrows twitching every so slightly, betraying a frustration and impatience bubbling just beneath his skin that contradicted his good-natured persona. Guess that’s the end of his break from the countless things to trouble himself with.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hauling himself up, he cast a longing gaze back to his bees and his honey, to his moment of peace and his escape from reality, from all the worries and problems, before peeling his eyes away and stepping out, shutting the door behind him. “What is it, Tommy?” He asked, trying to keep his discontent from shaking his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god Tubbo you won’t believe this I-! Did you know about the festival?” His friend shouted loudly into his ears, the concerned, slightly panicking voice making Tubbo smile. “Why are you smiling Tubbo, this is not a joke nor is it funny!” Tommy stomped at the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo merely shook his head nonchalantly. “I’ve heard about it and thought about it and came to the conclusion that it’s not something to worry about. Schlatt executed me because he had a reason to. In this world there isn’t that reason, so…” His words lacked conviction at first, but as he continued confidence strengthened his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Tubbo you don’t understand- See, why can’t they just name it something else? A… a party? A carnival? A ceremony of some sort?” Tommy put his hands on Tubbo’s shoulder, eyebrows knitted tightly, “Anything but a festival, Tubbo. I was a bystander and even I don’t want to relive it. We have to stop it from happening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think, Tommy, that it will be fine.” Tubbo said calmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy yelled, “Well I don’t think so!”</span>
</p><p>“Do you trust me, Tommy?” As soon as the words left his mouth Tubbo wished to steal them back. He hadn’t meant to spin the conversation into such a heavy tone. The weight of the question hung in the air like a persistent mist.</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked taken aback. There was almost a pause. “...Yes. Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then trust me when I say it will be fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy sighed in compliance and nodded weakly, hands falling to his side. “Fine, Tubbo. If you say so.” Tubbo smiled wearily, squeezing Tommy’s shoulders before turning back to the bee house, ready to return to his sanctuary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was then that they received a message to meet at the hall of the castle. It was an urgent scribble of words, and so with a shared glance and a nod so Tubbo followed Tommy as they set off for the stairs. Hurried steps echoed as they arrived before the grand doors. Upon opening it they found everyone already waiting. It was just like the last meeting about the fate of Schlatt and Quackity: Phil standing solemnly with closed wings beside the throne, on top of which Techno sat with a somewhat stiff posture. Wilbur, which had his arms crossed, was to the left of Techno. Fundy wasn’t present.  A few nods of acknowledgment and stares as Tubbo went to stand on the right of Techno, the position he stood last time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what are we here for?” Tommy asked, interrupting the grim air. Wilbur looked up at Techno expectingly, as if having the same question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Philza cleared his throat, answering with knowing eyes. “Techno has an announcement to make...about the future of l’Manberg.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. Absolutely not.” Tubbo said simply yet firmly, his voice not loud yet strikingly clear, breaking the silence that had fell after Techno finished his explanations. All his dreams of being a child, of escaping responsibility, of just following others command vanished as anger mounted along with shock. How could they ever consider, even have the audacity of entertaining the thought of starting a war?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo…” Philza frowned at him, surprise written in his eyes. Tubbo almost felt bad for his past self, the self that was always and has been a sidekick, a push-over, a pawn for so long that everyone had gotten used to trampling him over without considering his opinions, assuming that he won’t raise any objections. “You don’t understand, Tubbo-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lick of anger flared within him, burning his tongue as he spat out the words, “I- What?! Am I the only one who disagrees with this? With starting another </span>
  <b>war</b>
  <span>?” He looked around him with hands by his side, and saw that Wilbur was in deep thought and Tommy, to his greater surprise, silent. “Seriously?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It is as Sun Tzu says, victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win. I’m not straightforwardly declaring any wars, announce them to Dream like a fool, at least not until certain plans are instigated. The most supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting, after all. The five of us in this room are the only ones that know.” Techno cocked his head, looking down with a steady glance and a serenity that irritated Tubbo. Technoblade was calm. Too calm when he was talking about leading a country to warfare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It-it’s been less than half a year since you came to power, and war is the first thing you thought of? Can’t we have peace?” His vision blurred slightly as he yelled, boiling tears lining the edge of his eyes. He find that he couldn’t calm down, that it was almost as if he wasn’t fighting for the topic of war but something greater and much more personal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His own presidency was a disaster. For once, Dream had been right when he said that l’Manberg had never been weaker underneath his rule. Even if the country was already rotting from within, it was still during Tubbo’s administration that everything failed and fell, collapsed and exploded into smithereens down a pitch black crater. A lingering drop of guilt and regret, of what could’ve been done and what shouldn’t have been done, had always stayed within Tubbo. But he had been willing to move on, after they defeated Dream and threw him into Pandora’s Vault. He had been willing to forgive and forget, to let go. He knew from experience now, perhaps even more than Techno, what it felt like and how to rule a country. Now, in front of him, it was almost like an opportunity delivered on a silver platter for him to fix things, to prevent his own faults. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he won’t make the same mistakes. To fix things, to change things, to stop things. Isn’t that what he and Tommy travelled back in time for?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Technoblade flicked open a golden watch, as if growing impatient, as he shook his head at Tubbo, “I have plans, Tubbo. This wasn’t just an abrupt, spontaneous, rash idea. The ‘war’ I’m starting is a step by step process, an operation to victory. The only reason I’m even informing you of any of this is because I believe I owe you an explanation, insight into what I’m planning. This is not a conversation up to suggestion and change. The decision has already been made.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo opened his mouth before closing it, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. Desperate eyes found Tommy’s. “Tommy I- can we go to another room for a second again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo was numb as he grabbed Tommy’s wrist and they went down the halls, into the same room as last time. It all felt like déjà vu. Another meeting. Another important decision. Another private conversation. Would they fight again, here, in the same place they did two month ago? Tubbo didn’t want to fight. Not with Tommy. Not again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, Tubbo told himself as the door clicked close, firmly locked. They wouldn’t fight because there’s no way Tommy would disagree with him this time. There’s no way Tommy would agree to having a war. And so confidently Tubbo said, whispering slightly for he was suddenly paranoid that someone would hear,“Tommy what do you think? War?! Isn’t it ridiculous? I- Even I was a better president then this…!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy interrupted, eyes not meeting his. “Tubbo… I uh, I rarely do this but… I have to agree with Techno in this one. I-” Tubbo’s heart dropped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“WHAT?!” Shock was all there was in his voice. He could yet process the other emotions now spiraling into life within him, a chaotic turmoil akin to the violent storm a few days ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy squeezed Tubbo’s shoulders, leveling their glance. “Tubbo we need to stop thinking of this world as a… a temporary vacation or something. We need to stop being so- so short-sighted! I- why do we need to go back to our old home when we have L’Manberg here? We have Wilbur, too! Our family… everyone’s happy here. I want to stay and I want to keep it this way and… We need to stop thinking of this as our past. This is our present, and this is our future, Tubbo!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Tubbo’s turn to look away, to break their stare. There was some truth in Tommy’s words, but he couldn’t see how this was related to the current topic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy continued, “All along, Tubbo, it has always been you and me. You and me, that is, against Dream. And I have been thinking a lot about this and… The fight between me and Dream might’ve ended in our old world, but not here. The discs, Tubbo, I need the discs. Then Dream will be out of the way and… Technoblade knows a lot about wars. If there’s gonna be any wars, it’s best if he is on our side and is leading it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo hissed, teeth bared, “</span>
  <em>If</em>
  <span>, Tommy, that there’s gonna be wars. I don’t want any wars. </span>
  <em>Any</em>
  <b>.</b>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Tubbo, the Discs-!” Tommy insisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo yelled out, “Tommy, the discs don't matter! They never did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy flinched, as if stunned by the familiar words, the same word Tubbo shouted when he declared Tommy’s exiled. In an instant Tubbo put his hands over his mouth, stopping himself from blurting out further. But it was too late. The damage was already done. Tommy stepped away from Tubbo, terror and dread twisting his face and making his hands tremble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo didn’t know what exactly happened during the Exile, for Tommy would always hastily change the subject whenever it was brought up. All he knew was that it was traumatizing and terrifyingly lonely, that it’s memories tormented Tommy at day and haunted him at night. That any mentioning, any reminder of that period of the past was best to be forbidden and not spoken of. Tubbo took a step forward, a hand reaching out as he mumbled, “I- I’m sorry…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy clutched his arms, as if trying to stop them from shaking, “Tubbo you can… you can think whatever you want. Just know that I support this idea of Techno’s. Trust me, please, that this is all for the best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that Tommy walked passed him and out of the room, leaving Tubbo alone and shrouded with a sinking helplessness and frustration untempered by all voices of reason. With clenched fists, he muttered to himself in a low growl, eyes red and clouded by loathe. “We’ve fought before and no good came out of it. History will repeat itself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There must be something Tubbo could do. Something he could use. His jaw ached from biting down so hard as he thrashed around in the chests of the room before widening his eyes, an idea emerging. A faint smile grew, one that was more sly and quite unbefitting on the face that was usually so easy-going and kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tubbo and Tommy have a very... volatile and unstable relationship every since Tubbo decide to stuck up for himself. Hopefully this won’t led to something too... impactful to the future.</p><p>Usually each chapters have two P.O.Vs and this chapter is no exception in my planning. However, in the end, one P.O.V was already more than 2.5K words and that was my goal word count for each chapter so I separated the two P.O.Vs that was originally in the same chapter. This means that the next chapter will come very soon though! Thanks for reading and comment please &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Pawns and Crowns</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“So in triumph or defeat, pawns advance and kings retreat.” - Peter B. Payne</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Dream’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A bead of water dropped down from the ceiling of the cavern into a puddle, smudging the reflection of a smiling mask by rippling the calm surface. Not too far from it was a couple of chest, two armour stands of half netherite and a bed, all hidden in the corners and edges of the tunnel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“TNT?” Schlatt repeated, not even trying to cover the grin as wide as it was devious, “Blow the castle up? That’s a great idea!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream smiled as well. It was, after all, as easy to please a man as it was to manipulate. A couple dozen packages of TNT poked out of the bag that draped over his shoulder. “I have enough of these to destroy anything on the ground, so resources are not a problem. However, the element of surprise is still a crucial part of our plan.” Dream reminded his ally, who only nodded, still unable to hide his stretching smirk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Finally! Hah! It was miserable down here in this wrench. Yes, thank you Dream! When l’Manberg is mine I’ll be sure to repay my share of the deal as well as… the Resurrection book, right?” Jschlatt took a huge gulp before wiping his mouth one sleeve and tossing another beer bottle onto the floor, shattering it into million green pieces. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The mere thought of his end of the deal sent a frantic giddiness through him. Dream’s finger itches from the mere idea of grasping them in his own hands, imagining the feeling of leather that made the book look so ordinary yet it was anything but that. Getting his hands on an item with information of value as massive and dangerous as this one was almost unimaginable, yet he had seen it and believed the words he read wholeheartedly. An item of power equivalent to the Discs, an item that allowed him to bend the rules of death itself. It was akin to becoming immortal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, he would only be getting his end of the deal if their plan worked and Schlatt didn’t die before the exchange happens.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was more benefit than just the book as well. L’Manberg would at least be shaken and at best be fully under his thumb. Any indirect damage to that nuisance of a country was a win and another straw placed until the last one breaks the camel’s back. He thought back to Tommy, his smug face and his mocking words. Revenge, indeed, was sweet and best served cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has thought for long moments about the coming plan in detail, and knew it like the back of his palm. He had gone over it in such specifications in the book he had trusted to Schlatt that there was little chance anything was missed or could go wrong. The length he went for precautionary purposes was far beyond explanation by words. Still, after seeing Schlatt glance dismissively at the book, knowing his own plan depended on the man in front of him that was looking more irresponsible with every passing minute, Dream added, “You also need to know where the bedrooms are to assure that nobody would be there to fight back. Maybe even the weaponry and storage place needs to be located.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, whether or not Schlatt actually destroys the castle as well as overthrow them successfully was none of his concern. The man could lose a leg, fail the plan miserably or escape by the skin of his teeth as long as Dream’s role is considered fulfilled in their deal and that Schlatt, at all cost, doesn’t die. Which, the totem of undying that Dream had given should do the trick. There was almost no chance that Dream won’t at least gain some benefit to compensate for the resources that cost to sneak Schlatt out of prison then supply him with the necessary materials, armours and plans.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yah, yah. Just hand me the TNT!” Schlatt was growing impatient. Dream dropped the bag loaded with TNT and was just about to toss it before halting, axe suddenly in hand as he turned toward the entrance of the cave. Schlatt heard the footsteps as well, and quickly equipped a sword.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a familiar figure. Dark shades hidden behind them a pair of treacherous eyes, a crown wore proudly on auburn hair and a red robe befitting a king draped over his shoulders. It was someone he considered a friend, an ally, even.“Don’t do this.” Eret stepped in, slightly breathless yet his words echoed with assertion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? Don’t do what?” Dream asked, his voice innocent and fake. Of course he knew. This sad excuse of a king must have eavesdropped on their conversation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Leave l’Manberg alone.” Eret hissed. Dream narrowed his eyes and took a step towards Eret, who winced and inched back. Dream was told that his mere presence could be intimidating, his smiling mask a taunting scene.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is this suddenly about? Do you not remember what I said the other day, Eret?” He whispered, his voice not quite loud enough for Schlatt to make out and attract unwanted questions but not quite soft enough to sound gentle. It was muttered in a scornful, sardonic tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret clutched his teeth, clenched his hands by his side as he shouted, yelling slightly. “I know, but this isn’t right. L’Manberg has done nothing wrong so far. You have no reason to-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream cut him off, speaking louder intentionally. “Is this about guilt, Eret? Are you feeling guilty?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I no-, I’m only being reasonable…!” Eret hurried to defend himself but he was stuttering, taken aback by the sudden accusation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt laughed behind Dream, scoffing derisively, “Don’t tell me, you want to run back to your friends? You think they will accept you, a traitor?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream turned back to the man in a crown in front of him with a forged, sympathetic voice. “He’s right, Eret. You’re the king. You’re neutral.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. I’m sick and tired of being neutral, tired of doing nothing. I’ve chosen a side and it’s not yours. I’ll help them and I will tell them your plans.” Dream’s eyes turned into slits at the words, and his face twisted into an ugly frown. At the same time he almost laughed at Eret’s provocative declaration, as if the silly king really thought he had any power, any choice, in the first place. No. His plans will not be foiled by a disloyal, ungrateful man. Of course not.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had expected that Eret wasn’t loyal. He had always kept an eye on this particular pawn, knowing that a traitor—even if it benefited him at the time, but just knowing that said person had the capacity to betray—was much more dangerous than enemies. So he wasn’t surprised that Eret was thinking of turning on them, of switching sides. Announcing it to Dream himself, however, was a silly mistake on Eret’s part. It was as if Eret wanted to act more righteous, and so he wanted to set things straight, to talk it out, to say the truth instead of a simple knife to the back. It’s a pity that truth is treason in the empire of lies, and such an empire was what Dream ruled. Not that it mattered, in the end. Dream would never let words out about Eret’s little rebellious behaviours.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream smiled a sinister smile as he turned to the much more reasonable ally behind him, “Schlatt, I’m sure we’ll talk soon again. Eret, let’s continue the abrupt yet interesting conversation at your castle, shall we?” Schlatt shrugged and walked deeper into the cavern while Eret hesitated before following him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they walked down the prime path with Eret shuffling along, Dream let an ominous silence surround the air. His hands itched for his axe Nightmare, knowing that with one swift swing… Well, it is as Peter Baelish says: Money buys a man’s silence for a time, but a bolt in the heart buys it forever. But no. Not yet, at least. Since Eret has announced his abrupt idea, Dream shouldn’t hold back his own surprise for the king of the Dream SMP.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They arrived at the corridor and Eret took his seat on the throne, looking alerted, puzzled. Dream cleared his throat. “I already said this the other day, Eret, but… clearly, you need a reminder.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret tensed, opening his mouth to speak, but Dream continued before he could be opposed, “What do you think gives you power? Is it your crown? Is it the fact that you’re king?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Those who are given power, keep it.” Eret uttered, but his voice lacked conviction. Dream nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But what gives you power is not, not respect. Not your crown. You have power because of me, and because of the other members of Dream SMP like Punz and Sapnap that give you power by protecting your kingship. Am I wrong?” It wasn’t a question, both Eret and Dream knew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret squirmed in his seat. “You’re not wrong.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now, that day, I told you that you don’t need to do anything. This war, this ‘conflict’ is between Schlatt and l’Manberg. It’s the Fallout of the Election. Dream SMP is not involved in this. By getting involved or implying involvement, you, as the king, is dragging the whole kingdom with you through the mud.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want them to cancel out each other. You want them to fight and perish each other in the process. That’s why you are helping Schlatt. ” Eret muttered. A harsh truth, but a truth nonetheless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream nodded, “Yes. That’s been my plan since the very beginning! Then there will only be Dream SMP. Everything, everywhere, everyone. I’ve never wavered on that. That-that’s why I had you betray them and that’s why I gave you kingship.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he said this a small voice whispered to him, asking him, questioning him. Was what he was doing wrong? Was he the villain in this story? No, Dream told the voice. He just wanted to unite the server, he just wanted to get rid of the source of conflict and division and he was willing to do whatever it takes to achieve that, to vanquish l’Manberg and its silly beliefs. All his actions were for this goal; he has never lost sight of it, never wavered. He was in the right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret stiffened as Dream tapped the floor and as if on signal, Punz and George entered from the door, each with a grim expression. Dream took a few more steps closer and unscrolled a document. Dream pointed at the fine prints, “When we, during the first war, when we were establishing that you were the king we also established a chain of command. Do you remember that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I, uh, from my perspective you gave me the kingship.” Stuttering, Eret responded, more confused than ever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, after that, we established a chain of command and George, George was the second in command.” Dream gestured towards George, whose face could not be seen underneath the circular goggles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream rolled up the scroll and cached it before dropping a set of words suddenly, abruptly. “So. Eret, I’m gonna need you to take your crown off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- I can’t.” Eret stood up, as if in defiance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream almost laughed, but he kept his voice low, threatening. “You have to. I- that’s not a request. We have the three of us here.” He gestured, axe in hand as he glanced at his two other allies in their full netherite armour.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do this.” Eret repeated as he was backed to a corner. It was pitiful, really, the former glorious king now looked like a coward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can do it the easy way or the hard way Eret but you’re doing it.” Dream deadpanned, his patience running thin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why is this happening?” George asked quietly, meekly. Dream raised an eyebrow slightly. Oh well, it was a good opportunity to explain things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just to let you know George, Eret has betrayed the Dream SMP and has decided to side with l’Manberg, as the king, and help them with their election fallout. And, and the thing is-! I, the only thing I advised him to do was to stay neutral. I didn’t even ask him to help us, help me with my deal with Schlatt but he, he didn’t listen.” Dream said, but his eyes were never off the crowned king in front of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He betrayed us. He doesn’t deserve to be king.” Dream concluded, the weight of his words hanging in the air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waited for a moment more for Eret to take off his crown, but Eret only shook his head. Impatience boiled his blood as Dream mauled the crown off before clutching it, wiping it was a cloth. Punz held a blade near Eret’s face to prevent even the slightest attempt of retrieving the golden symbol of kingship. Dream grinned a vicious grin as he turned to George, clapping. “George! Congratulations! This whole castle is yours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...I’m the king?” George’s face lit up in pleasant surprise as Eret scowled a sour frown. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re the king.” Dream confirmed, smirking, his eyes capturing all the shock, helplessness, and maybe even regret reflecting through Eret’s eyes. “King George! It has a ring to it!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dream, if you’re taking everything from me then… then I have nothing to lose if I warn l’Manberg. But you, you have everything. If I warn them then at least, at least I can, I might- They might accept me again. I might be able to redeem myself.” Eret said, the mere motion making Punz’s blade drew closer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream escorted George to another room, talking to his good friend and new king about the castle and getting rid of the flamingos which had been annoying him for days before turning back to Eret, a smile twisted by a menacing, scathing smug. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re right.” Dream said as Punz stepped back to let Dream bent over, whispering those last six words in an almost inaudible breath against the shell of the ears of the dethroned king. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But dead men tell no tales.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Can you guys sense just how ironic it is that Schlatt is getting TNT from Dream while Wilbur is hosting a festival? I sure hope you do, ‘cause this is will be a reoccurring theme!</p><p>Thanks for all the support/comments/feedback so far and hope you enjoyed reading this chapter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Festival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Festivals are a place where we can forget about our problems for a little while.”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u"> Tommy’s P.O.V </span>
</p><p> </p><p>Heels tripped about the floor in a hurry, each step a daunting echo in the long hall. Bars of light splashed through the chapel-like windows as dots of colour adorned the darkening sky, brilliant banners waving in the calming breeze. </p><p> </p><p>He had to tell Tubbo. Right now.</p><p> </p><p>TNT. Explosions. November 16th. Memories flashed past his eyes and quickened his pulse as panic spread like wildfire through him with each thought. </p><p> </p><p>He has just caught ears of rumours, very fleeting and vague rumours of a mass amount of dynamite being passed from one hand to another, of plans to blow something up. At the same time, the  festival was today; a coincidence that was as if there was only to tempt fate. With teeth clenched so hard together his jaw hurt he ran faster and faster down the halls.</p><p> </p><p>He brushed a hand through his wave of matted blond hair as he pushed open two grand doors to find behind it buzzing, idle chatter. “Tommy! You’re almost late for the show!” Wilbur walked up to him with open arms, placing a hand on his shoulder before glancing slightly judgmentally at his outfit with comical, sideway eyes. “Annnd you need to change. I have the perfect uniform in the back, just do it quickly. The festival is about to start.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s eyes darted for Tubbo, but he grumbled as he was pushed through the dressing room. “I thought we could wear whatever we want?” It was what Wilbur had told him the other day, at least. And so Tommy had just wore something comfortable and fitting: his signature white t-shirt with red sleeves, the old green bandana around his neck and bandage over his nose. But as he traversed through the somewhat narrow room he realized just how much more dressed up everyone else was.</p><p> </p><p>The exquisite crown gleamed in the mid-evening light. Tortoiseshell, with a mother-of-pearl inlay and teeth that had the too-bright look of real gold tied his hair, making a ladylike braid at the nape of his neck. A row of delicate pearl buttons edged the lace at his wrist. His mantle fell gracefully around his ankles, pooling at his tall boots. His gown looks to have been custom-made; the lace hand-embroidered by the yard and as delicate as spiderwebs, affixed with freshwater pearls that caught light when he moved. Underneath all the lace and frill stood a humble king and his advisor, in similar enough to be matching outfits. Techno was tilting his head and examining the heels of his shoes while Phil fastened another chain of glittering jewels across his dark wings. </p><p> </p><p>“Wow Technoblade, don’t you and Philza just look fancy-pants.” Tommy remarked snarkily as he passed by, to which Wilbur only snorted.</p><p> </p><p>“In my defence, I was peer pressured.” Techno said, to which a round of laughter sounded.</p><p> </p><p>“If fancy you mean elegant and dressed for the part. We’re part of the royal family now, Tommy, and you need to act and look like it!” Wilbur said, ignoring Techno’s comment. Tommy rolled his eyes as Philza chuckled again. He had no interest in being part of some royal family. He still hadn’t got over the persisting dread that came from the name and recollection of an event he would rather not remember or relive. Tubbo had been unseemly calm about it though, and Tommy wasn’t going to panic if even Tubbo isn’t. </p><p> </p><p>Speaking of his best friend he peaked around the corner to find Tubbo in a plain dark green shirt and dark pants, brown hair slightly groomed but eyes still looking untamed and wild with childish imagination. “Hello Tommy! Are you ready?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy turned around immediately with a shout. “Hey! Why does Tubbo get to dress all simple and I can’t?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur pouted, the look childish and enough to make Tommy grin, the previous ominous sensation seemingly fading. They fussed about outfits a bit more before heading to the podium, which held no good memories and Tommy still felt shakened to stand on. Thankfully only a small speech was given and those invited were quick to disperse to all the attractions and stands littered around the castle. The whole ‘royal family’ sauntered about together in laughter and glee as they explored the various games and shows. </p><p> </p><p>The chill yet cheerful atmosphere of the event, the goofing around that Tommy had almost forgotten how to do, the carefree laughter and the blissful ignorance of what this day once marked in the history of Jschlatt’s reign almost put Tommy's heart at ease. With a jerk his thoughts reminded him of the rumours he had heard just hours before, rumours of history repeating itself with a bittersweet irony. He cast a side-ways glance at Tubbo; his best friend was smiling with contentment so pure that it would be cruel now to break the news to him. Perhaps the rumours were just rumours. Perhaps Tubbo was right; perhaps things will be different in this new world they’ve created for themselves. Perhaps Tommy could, at least, hope.</p><p> </p><p>They bumped into Niki and Punk as well as Awesamdude and Ranboo, new citizens of l’Manberg. It was weird to see the creeper-faced engineer so very oblivious compared to the one Tommy knew to be so stern and serious, but he tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about the time traveling, tried not to remember the reason they were here, tried to forget his old world which was both better and worse than the one he was in right now. He tried to maintain the jolly mood that everyone else around him held naturally, tried not to let doubt smear the rare chance of catching a break, a break from thinking with a splitting headache about the present and the past and the future and all his mistakes.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy busied himself with all the attractions until the group were forced to wait for Phil and Techno to come back from rearranging their jewellery. With nothing but silence as Wilbur gave him an odd, pensive look and Tubbo poking the grass with a stick, it was difficult not to let his mind wander to other places, places that Tommy was trying to avoid thinking about.</p><p> </p><p>Looking at Wilbur, Tommy tried to start a conversation, his lips suddenly dry. “You know, Techno’s been making real good progress recently. I have to say, maybe you’re right to make him the king.” He thought of the anarchist back in the original world. Who knew such an anti-government man would’ve been able to rule so well. Ironic.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur avoided his glance, looking at the sky. “...Techno’s administration… was a good idea.” Wilbur paused, as if something was troubling his mind greatly. Tommy waited, sensing that something else might want to be said. Wilbur had been acting weird recently.</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy, Tommy, you have to listen to me, hear me out, okay?”  Wilbur turned suddenly, placing two hands on Tommy’s shoulders and meeting his eyes with tainted, flickering eyes. “You know I don’t like being ruled under someone, being ordered around like… like a servant. But when I imprisoned Jschlatt and Quackity, the others, even Niki and Fundy, were angry. They called me a tyrant, a dictator, Tommy, and I was afraid they’d overthrow us. So I devised a better plan. Techno would be king, would please the people, and then… and then I’ll take over again.” </p><p> </p><p>“What?!” Tommy exclaimed, trying to step back, to move away, but Wilbur’s grip tightened.</p><p> </p><p>A crazed grin widened on the other’s face. “Yah. I’ll be president, king, which, let’s not lie, is basically the same in all but name. ” </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think Technoblade will like that.” Tommy tried to peel the other’s hands off him in vain.</p><p> </p><p>“He told me before how he didn’t even want to be king, that he is only doing it upon our request. Plus, I’ll make it so he resigns on his own.” Wilbur’s tone was low, and his face held a hint of insanity. Noticing this, Tommy’s nerves stood on ends as memories flooded in. </p><p> </p><p>“How…?” His heart drummed in his ears and was deafening, so loud that he almost couldn’t hear Wilbur’s words.</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy… Tommy I trust you with this, okay? I haven’t told anyone about this.” Tommy nods numbly, breath held. Wilbur exhaled, looking around them for a brief moment before leaning forward so that the words could be whispered against the shell of his ears. “Philza. He will become sick, suddenly. They will need to go back to the cottage, to find an Antarctic herb that will cure it. And I’ll need to fill in his position as King.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy froze in place. “Y-you mean-” Finally free from Wilbur’s grasp, Tommy was sent tumbling back, realization filling his eyes with horror. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur only placed a finger on his lips, which curved upward into a cruel smile as he nodded. “Don’t tell anyone, Tommy. I trust you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you know who else is invited?” Tubbo suddenly break in, his face telling Tommy he was oblivious from the previous conversation.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, the people that I don’t think have shown up yet are the Sapnap, King of the SMP so Eret, and a couple others…” </p><p> </p><p>“Eret won’t be coming to the festival tonight.” A familiar voice said behind them. Heels turning, Tommy cursed underneath his breath as his entire body tensed, the air stilled by a presence not at all welcomed. Dream. Again. </p><p> </p><p>“Why not?” Tubbo asked, caution tainting his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Because he has resigned as the King. It’s George now, who will serve as the new ruler of the Dream SMP.” Wilbur’s eyes widened as Tommy and Tubbo shared an alerted glance. </p><p> </p><p>He remembers this happening in the canon Dream SMP, though Tommy was far from involved in the incident itself. It is likely that Eret hadn’t given up his position willingly though; no, the proud man Tommy once knew—who was also a traitor—would never do that, never pass over his throne even if it was only an illusion of power. Only a forceful overthrow can rob him of his crown, meaning Eret must have done Dream wrong. Either way the position was merely a title empty of influence or control, the king a puppet behind which Dream pulled the strings. It wasn’t that that had alarmed Tommy so greatly, but more of the passage of time. If it was already Eret’s resignation then… perhaps they didn’t have much time left to save l’Manberg. </p><p> </p><p>“But announcing his dethronement isn’t why I’m here.” Dream continued. Of course, the sinister, dangerous man in front of him was here for a purpose. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s hands, despite himself, shook when the ceramic mask and its taunting smile  turned to him.“Tommy. I’m here to offer what I did last time, but this won’t be offered again. Will you accept, in exchange for the leather of Spirit,  the information about an escape route, one that is only a few blocks away underneath the castle, out of which might save you and your family from a sudden attack of, say,” A crooked, knowing smile was flashed at him, “-explosions?”</p><p> </p><p>H-how. How could Dream have known. He doesn’t- couldn’t have known that Tommy heard rumours. Schlatt. Quackity. Manberg. TNT. Blow it up. November 16th. The festival. Dream wasn’t God, it isn’t possible that- that he knew… He- unless...</p><p> </p><p>Heart in his throat Tommy’s vision blurred, all his hopes of a better tomorrow going up in flames as the fragile happiness that he had convinced himself to dwell within shattered, collapsing around him. Unless there was something else. Unless Dream knew something that even the future didn’t tell Tommy. A change in how things should’ve happened, an alternative from the canon plot line. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy suddenly felt so cold. Biting wind brushed against frozen red cheeks and fingers he could barely feel any longer curled together uselessly. All the noise and colours around them faded to black as the ground beneath him trembled. Wilbur’s plan of poisoning Phil. Techno’s plan of war. Schlatt’s plan of blowing things up. All was going so wrong.</p><p> </p><p>Dream took a step forward, and as if his patience were running thin, he urged.  “So what will it be, Tommy? You don’t want to lose your last canon life, do you? How do you get your discs back if you DIED?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy thought vaguely of what Techno had warned previously about dealing with Dream, but the fear of past traumas very easily overrode all rationale. The thunderous booms, the hiss of dynamites, the lick of flames, the cold steel of a sword through the chest, the sharp pain of an arrow piercing through flesh. His last two cannon deaths were awful, unspeakably tragic. He didn’t want to experience them again, didn’t want to- He didn’t want to die. He was too young, had too many things to do. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes grew wet at the thought, his legs giving away. He had to cover his mouth to stop himself from choking, as his vision spun and darkened. Faintly he recognized that he was having a panic attack as his pulse quickened and his head ached. </p><p> </p><p>His hand fumbled in his pocket, and it touched the cold metal compass. It wasn’t Your Tubbo. It was the one Sam gave him, the one that led to the portal. </p><p> </p><p>Right. If anything happened, they could just go back. It isn’t permanent, isn’t forever. “Just don’t die.” Sam’s last words had been. That’s what Tommy should focus on. Not dying. His breathing calmed a little.</p><p> </p><p>His hand reached past the compass and pulled out an old chunk of cloth. “Fine. Have your stupid piece of leather. Just- just tell me where the tunnel is.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo’s eyes broadened. “Tommy-?!”</p><p> </p><p>Dream smiled. So smug and triumphant that bastard always seemed whenever he got what he wanted.“Very well. It’s good doing business with you. Here’s a map. The exit will bring you to the third opening of your underground water tunnel. From there, it will lead you safely outside the castle at the very least and if wanted, beyond l’Manberg walls and onto the Prime Path.” </p><p> </p><p>Tommy gulped before nodding. Dream turned away, and it was then that Techno and Phil came back. “What did we miss?” Phil asked lightheartedly.</p><p> </p><p>Techno looked towards the shadow of Dream, who hadn’t left and was studying something in the distance. “Did Dream come again? Seriously guys, I’m beginning to think that guy is homeless; That’s why he bothers us so much, he’s got nothing better to do! I mean, have you seen him sleep in a building? Didn’t think so. Homeless green naked teletubby it is!”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy laughed at the joke, and loudly on purpose. It wasn't enough to chase away his doubt and fears though, wasn’t enough for him to feel warm, feel safe. Sometimes it felt as if nothing was enough anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Just as the group was moving on to the next attraction, Tommy caught Tubbo moving towards Dream. He tilted his ears slightly and watched as Tubbo pulled on the masked man’s sleeves, halting him from teleporting away. </p><p> </p><p>“Wait Dream. I have something else to talk to you about.” Tommy heard Tubbo say in a whisper. Too distraught by his own worries, Tommy followed the group away, leaving Tubbo behind. </p><p> </p><p>He’ll catch up, Tommy thought, before turning away to catch up to the rest of the family.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> Philza’s P.O.V </span>
</p><p> </p><p>The festival continued until late at night, and was finished with a series of brilliant fireworks. Seeing the relaxed shoulders, the smiling faces, the cheerful shouts of pleasant surprise and excitement made Philza more than pleased about the outcome. It was all he wanted, really. He wanted not the honour nor the burden of ruling a country, not the riches nor the formality of being a royalty. He just wanted family together, laughing and having fun. It was all he could ever hope for.</p><p> </p><p>Humming a jolly tune, Phil thought over his success and found that he was so delighted by the result of the festival that he couldn’t sleep. Pacing around the halls, he just couldn’t seem to stop smiling. It was a rare sight nowadays, his sons all gathered together, all grinning and happy and carefree. The image forever burned into his mind, Phil acknowledged that it might be a long time before this moment will come again. Soon, perhaps, memory will be all he has.</p><p> </p><p>Nevertheless, seemingly nothing was capable of dampening his mood as he chirped about the castle, peeking through doors to make sure everyone was sound asleep. Even Techno didn’t stay up tonight, as evident by the lack of light slipping out from underneath the crack of the doorframe. Phil didn’t check on the king himself, knowing that Techno was easily awakened by even the faintest noise. </p><p> </p><p>Strolling farther down the hall he arrived at the old library once more, the one he and Techno had played chess in. He grazed the door with the back of his palm before pushing it open, a shrill screech sounding with the motion. </p><p> </p><p>To his surprise, a tall, crowned figure stood next to the window and was staring outside, a hand on the frigid glass. “Techno?” Phil ventured, his hand reaching out to touch a pair of stiff shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>Techno turned to him with slightly widened eyes. “Phil. What are you doing up so late?”</p><p> </p><p>Phil flashed a small smile and a shrug. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you, mate?”</p><p> </p><p>“Me too. Too many thoughts. Too many-...” There was a pause, “-too many voices. Too loud.” Techno looked away, back at the window and at the outside, where paper lanterns still hang in the air.</p><p> </p><p>Phil fell silent. The voices were a touchy subject. His eyebrows furrowed together as Phil could only look up at the king with concern. “Want to talk about it?” </p><p> </p><p>“I have been known to be a bit of a ‘violent’ person, Phil. And you know I haven't, I haven't told this to anyone, but I think the reason it's so hard for me to be non-violent, Phil, is because I hear voices. I hear countless voices in my head all the time.” Phil nodded sympathetically. After all, Phil had voices of his own. Techno’s just happened to be… more wild. It wasn’t the first time Techno had confessed to have struggled with them, though it painted Phil to see the struggling themselves. Techno continued, “And the voices are crazy Phil. Uh… sometimes they're angry, sometimes they're sad uh... sometimes they mock me… But the thing about the voices Phil, the one thing they-, the one, the one thing I hear from them the most… The voices demand blood Phil.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno looked at him in the eyes for a moment, repeating gravely. “They demand blood.” </p><p> </p><p>Philza said, trying to bring comfort to his words. “Yeah yeah. That's uh... I remember that being a thing that just happened with you a lot…” He scratched the back of his neck. “You've always had that, you know. You’ve always had to deal with it…it's just you got better at ignoring them.” </p><p> </p><p>Techno sighed. “I've been trying to ignore them lately Phil… but they're just so loud... they're just so loud phil i just-...” </p><p> </p><p>Phil frowned, worry growing as he added. “Because they’re not getting fed.” </p><p> </p><p>Techno nodded. “I just wanna… wanna stab something. But I'm holding back, I'm holding back. I'm gonna be a good person Phil. I'm gonna be a good person. I’m gonna be a good king, a good ruler of l’Manberg, a good brother, ally.” </p><p> </p><p>“Alright. That’s fine. Just-” He wishes Techno wouldn’t be so hard on himself, sometimes. He feared that he would get too stressed, get too pushed over the edge. He feared that Techno would snap someday, under all the pressure.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you remember what I did before the potato wars?” Techno chuckled to himself at the recollection. “I am… I was the second worst thing to happen to those orphans, Phil. And they were pleased, the voices, and they quieted down. Then, I stopped that, and they got mad. They got louder. Then...the potato wars… it pleased them—well, I did bully Squid Kid pretty hard. They were pleased, and they were quiet. Quiet until now, Phil.” </p><p> </p><p>Phil approached cautiously, careful to smoothen his words so they didn't sound like an accusation. Just a gentle, curious question. “Is that why you wanted the war against Dream?” </p><p> </p><p>Techno shook his head. “No. Not completely. It was the best thing. L’Manberg is too small, as of now. But the voices, they got excited by the idea. They urged, they beckoned me, Phil.” </p><p> </p><p>“What about Tubbo and Wilbur? Tommy was somewhat on board, but those other two…” Phil thought back to Tommy and Tubbo, who whenever they had a serious meeting, acted so very strangely.</p><p> </p><p>Techno gritted his teeth, clenching his hands into fists. “I can’t back out of it now, not after I announced it to them, to the voices. I’ll have to do it, with or without Wilbur and Tubbo’s approval.”</p><p> </p><p>Philza directed his gaze outside the window as well. “Okay. Well, what do we do now?”</p><p> </p><p>Techno leaned on the railings, his words sounding certain and thoroughly planned out. “First step, find Eret, the dethroned king. Sun Tzu said that if you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. Eret’s been working under Dream and must know a lot of things. He would be the finest asset. Next, king George. ‘If his forces are united, separate them. If sovereign and subject are in accord, put division between them.’ Dream’s most valuable allies are Punz, Sapnap and George, as well as Skeppy and BadBoyHalo. There must be a way to turn them against him.” Techno stepped towards the chess board where their last chess match still was, and moved the tower forward. “Then, we will attack and-” Techno was interrupted when there was a sudden, echoing row of hisses as something dropped from the sky, landing on the roof of the castle. </p><p> </p><p>And in an instant, Philza’s world completely collapsed around him. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So... what do you think is gonna happen with Tubbo? And Wilbur and Techno and Tommy? What happened to Philza at the end? What about Dream and Schlatt?</p><p>Sorry for the long wait, hopefully it was worth it! Has been working on a different project and procrastinated a little bit. Thank you for all the support I’ve been getting recently and feel free to comment/provide feedback!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>17. Nothing Bad Ever Happens After A Festival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When it rains, it pours — misfortunes or difficult situations tend to follow each other in rapid succession</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Technoblade’s P.O.V</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Too late. </p><p> </p><p>It was too late by the time he heard the them—the flick of a wrist as flint clashed against steel and a spark was lighted, the frizzling of TNT as the flame crawled along the fuse, the stiff motion of the air as a merciless man smirked and without hesitation dropped them below him. Too late by the time the walls shook and the floor trembled, the candlelight of the chandelier flailing and dust dropping from the ceiling to dot the floor in drywall fragments. Too late by the time the voices screamed for him to move and he realized he should’ve leaped towards Phil to hold the winged man in his arms and with his own body protect him from the falling debris.</p><p> </p><p>But it was all too late. A deafening crackle overwhelmed all his senses as he instinctively covered his ears, his vision blacking out and a splitting pain piercing his mind as he struggled to stay conscious. The thunderous booms continued as chunks of concrete were falling from all sides, making the air thick with gunpowder and smoke. He could feel the nightly chills brushing his back, could taste the acidic odour of blood and see himself kneeling above glistening pieces of shattered glass and fallen bricks. </p><p> </p><p>He tilted his head up, the mere motion sending a seething burn to his back.This was an ambush from the sky and he needed to know where it was all coming from. Instead he saw only a mass of blackness hovering just above him that took him long moments to realize to be wings.“Philza.” Techno croaked, his voice hoarse and rasp. He could now glimpse lapis eyes staring at him from the darkness, a weak smile flashed by the old man that was supposed to be comforting, reassuring. </p><p> </p><p>Those wings shuddered and a feather glided down to join the many that had fallen to the floor. With a startling glance it registered to him that Philza had extended his wings around them and was lifting the lumps of stone that would’ve otherwise crushed them into oblivion. Shaking arms supported the crumbling weight of the falling debris as Techno could do nothing but watch Phil’s entire body judder at each brick and stone that continued to tumble on top of him.</p><p> </p><p>Techno tried to lift himself up but his limbs were numb and leaden, his eyes difficult to open and his ears were throbbing. Blinking hard and willing himself to reach for the sword strapped around his waist, he grasped at nothing and realized that in his false sense of security and ease that he had left it in the storage room. He tried to calm his surging panic as more boulders plummeted from the sky and the ground continued to quake. They, what he now knew has to be TNT, were still dropping, he realized with gritted teeth. </p><p> </p><p>Explosions sounded from all sides, indicating it was likely a full-blow attack on the east side if not the entire castle. That meant Tommy, Wilbur, Tubbo and anyone that stayed or lived near the castle was also in grave danger. If this side of the castle was the first to be attacked, however, it does give them more time and chance to escape, for the explosions were loud and more than enough to serve as a warning to run and hide. An endless supply of dynamite was pouring and adorning the night sky with a twisted firework show, making it impossible for Techno to concentrate. His matted hair were limb pieces of rope clutching onto his face and his hands were useless to even relieve the fraction of the burden Philza was carrying. He knew the old man wouldn’t be able to continue for long, but his mind felt so helplessly blank. </p><p> </p><p>He suddenly thought of the escape route Dream had offered. Maybe the masked man knew something he didn’t. Maybe it would have given him a sliver of hope had he accepted the trade. But it was all too late.</p><p> </p><p>His heart a deafening drum within his chest and his throat throbbing, Techno managed to croak out a plan.  “One of us will have to make a run for it. The other… We have one Totem of Undying. We can both escape that way and meet outside the castle.”</p><p> </p><p>Philza shook his head with difficulty. “The castle is collapsing. To make a run for it would be a suicide mission.”</p><p> </p><p>Those words sunk in until both knew what was the only choice they have left. Two lives, one totem. Time was ticking on a melting clock, slipping through their fingers mercilessly quickly. The voices were screaming, a turmoil of screeches so very loud that it flooded over his own thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>Techno remembered needing his help with the voices a lot, back when he was still a child. He would lash out in a blind, destructive fury, only to blink and find himself with fingers tainted crimson and his brothers huddled in a corner whimpering and terribly scared. Worse, he would find one of them hurt or wounded. </p><p> </p><p>When that first happened, when he had caught a glimpse of the ugly scar that was slashed across Wilbur’s back, he didn’t leave his room for weeks. He had refused to eat, refused to respond to anyone or anything, refused to let others near him. He thought of himself as a monster, a cold-blooded psychopath that would hurt his own family. He felt helpless, hopeless. He hated himself until the sinking sensation led to scratching of his own skin until bruises and cuts lined his arms. He even had thoughts of leaving the mortal world. At least then, his family would be safe from his outbreaks. The world would be safe from his wrath. </p><p> </p><p>He would be safe from himself. </p><p> </p><p>Philza helped him, in those fragile moments of desperation. Philza told him of his own voices, and how he dealt with them. One step at a time, one deep breath after another, and he begins to gain control of himself again. With time, he improved. When he finally left his room the sunlight from outside was blinding and hurt his eyes but he didn’t mind, didn’t care, for all his worries of being not accepted and unforgivable vanished as his brother ran towards him with a hug and invited him to a game of tag. </p><p> </p><p>But he still had, occasionally, those tendency of violence and those moments where he lacked control. He still needed, at times, Phil to be by his side to sooth him, to remind him of where he was and who he was. </p><p> </p><p>That had always made him feel like a burden, and guilt would weigh his shoulders. So he worked very very hard and made himself independent. There was nothing he could do about the voices, but he trained, hours on end, his sword-fighting. If he couldn’t protect those he cared for from himself, then at least, at the very very least, he could protect them physically from others, be it mobs or players. </p><p> </p><p>He remembers the days and nights of tireless training. Hours slipped away until his knuckles turned crimson and his palm ached from clutching the handle of a blade. Until his vision blurred and his legs were too sore to stand, until his face was blemished by grim and threads of blood. Until he was covered head to toe with wounds and bruises, until he could see the pulses underneath the raw flesh of open blisters. Until his skin was lined with scars and fresh cuts, until his joints stinged and his jaw hurt from clenching through the pain to continue his drill, until his hair was a matted mess and his sleeves were shredded and thread-bare. Until his lungs burned and his throat was hoarse, until his heart threatened to break his rib cage. Until his weapons dulled and broke, until his practise tools fell apart into pieces onto the floor, unmendable and horribly worn. Until his limbs were so strained that he could no longer will himself to move, could no longer do anything but lay paralyzed and let the biting wind gnaw and nibble  at his pride. Until swings and slashes and kicks were carved forever in muscle memory, until flips and dives were nothing but instinctive reflexes. Until he could no longer extinguish the difference between a target and a friend, between a weapon and an ally, between a threat and a meer breeze. Pain was just weakness leaving the body, he believed. Do it for Wilbur and Tommy, he told himself. Do it for Phil.</p><p> </p><p>And so he trained so very hard that there were times he forgot what it meant to do anything else, lost in the motion of the blade and the wind howling against the ears as he struck and dodged and flipped. And so he trained so hard, just so he could be independent, so he wouldn’t be a burden anymore, so Phil no longer needed to protect him because he could protect himself and yet, yet…</p><p> </p><p>In the present, in the mayhem that continued to far apart around him, Philza said calmly, without a hint of doubt in his voice, “I’m giving you the totem.” It wasn’t a question.</p><p> </p><p>Techno had expected this, yet he still almost choked on the words. He replied with equal certainty, “Not in a million years.”</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t have time to fight. You’re younger, stronger. You have your whole future in front of you.” But Techno didn’t want a future that didn’t have Philza in it; he would rather have no future at all. But he didn’t speak, couldn’t speak, and only listened as Phil continued. “You’re the king. Isn’t that what a knight should do? Sacrifice himself for the king? Looks like that chess game was indeed foreshadowing.” Phil chuckled ruefully, but the air was humourless. “Too bad that game was our last.” </p><p> </p><p>“Take care of Tommy, he’s still a child. There’s Fundy, too. Wilbur will help you; he’s strong now, just like you are. Feed yourselves well, live life to the fullest and without regret or guilt. Remember to always let your heart be your compass.” Philza’s breath was cut short as the tumbling of rocks sounded above them.</p><p> </p><p>Techno was a man of principle. He obeyed the rules he set for himself and was strong in his beliefs, stubborn even. One of his first rules is that he would, under no circumstances, cry in front of someone else. It was a sign of weakness, and that was exactly what he trained to never show. But now, with his mind piercingly clear, his vision blurred as he let tears slide freely down his dampened cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>“I- Phil I won’t. I can’t. I will never-” Techno’s voice cracked. If this was goodbye, he didn’t prepare- No, this couldn’t be. He wouldn’t allow it. He would never forgive himself. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t hold it for much longer. Actually, I’m not sure I can carry it for a minute longer. But… I still have time to give you this...” Phil gave him a wink before detaching something from his neck and handing it to him. Techno’s eyes widened. Phil smiled sadly at the glistening necklace clasped in his hands. “Family Emeralds. I won’t need this anymore, after I… Just consider this a parting gift.”</p><p> </p><p>So many words are not yet said: Sorry. Thank you. No. No. No. Please. Please don’t leave. Please don’t go. Not you. Not the only person that has always been there for me, not the only one that I trust wholeheartedly, not you. Anyone but you, Phil. </p><p> </p><p>His entire world was crumbling away much like the castle he once called home but his throat squeezed, and couldn’t make a single sound. He couldn’t move as Phil shoved the emeralds into his hands, as he felt something else, something sharper pushed into his grasp as well. It was too late, just like everything else, when he realized that was the Totem.</p><p> </p><p>“Forgive me, old friend.” Philza whispered, giving him one last smile. Techno could do nothing but watch as with one last thrust he was sent out of the protection of those weary wings, as where Phil once was struck with another block of stone and collapsed into a pile of smoke and concrete chunks. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t even register, couldn’t even blink before a boulder landed on him and he tasted the foul experience that was death. Just for a moment the explosions were gone and it was painless as he found himself drifting above oblivion, his mind blissfully too numb to think about Phil. For a moment, it was peaceful and all weight was lifted from his shoulders. For a moment all of his life flashed across his eyes, all the scenes of childish plays and goofing around in the sand, of sparring and running around the shack, of tickling and snowball fights, of laughing and smiling with such innocence. For a moment, he felt happy, just lying there with nothing and no one but his own thoughts and memories of so much that he had, back then, taken for granted. </p><p> </p><p>But the moment was so short and it passed so mercilessly fast. Too short for him to grasp, to plead for it to stay only to let it slip through his finger like specks of dust, like grains of sand in a wild gust. Too fast for him to take a breath, for him to smile, for him to blink, for him to imagine that everything was okay. For his breathing to calm, for his chest to rise and fall without the feeling of the unbearable weight suffocating him, without the constant worry for the future and the echoes of his voices drowning him, without reality and blood to blur his eyes of all the merry things in the world and showing him only the ugliest, the cruelest, the worst. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Technoblade has reached the goal [Postmortal]</em>
</p><p> </p><p>And in a heartbeat, in a flurry of green and yellow particles he was back. Back alive, back in his battered clothing and matted hair, back to feeling the thin strand of the necklace clutched firmly in his fist, back to the hell that made death seem like heaven. He was standing above the boulder now, all wounds healed except for the one in his heart. Promising to himself, with jaws that ached from gritting his teeth and palms that bleed from clutching his hands into fists, that Phil will not die in vain, he forced himself to think, to move, to do something, anything at all. </p><p> </p><p>He needs to move. Casting one last glance at what was now only a pile of rocks, he turned away and ran. He ran until his lungs scorched and his legs burned, until he choked on his own breath—there was no time to stop as TNT still sounded in the distance. He ran until he reached a window and jumped out of it, landing in a nearby bushery. </p><p> </p><p>He has to find Wilbur and Tommy. Halting in front of the entrance of the castle he looked up, squinting his eyes to see a strange obsidian structure covering the sky. It was then that his face was slammed with a trapdoor and instinctively he jumped up, grabbing whatever he can and pointing it at the three figures in the dark.</p><p> </p><p>“Technoblade! It’s us!” Wilbur’s voice cried out, and Techno’s heart lifted with relief. He was almost tackled by a pair of arms as he was pulled into a hug. “We couldn’t find you! I thought- I thought you died!” </p><p> </p><p>“I told you so. The Blade never dies.” Tommy huff behind Wilbur, but Techno could hear the anxiousness masked  behind the joke. For once Techno was, however, humourless. Numb. </p><p> </p><p>“What even happened? Who attacked us?” Fundy asked, yelling slightly. His question was soon answered, when a rough voice bellowed down at the shakened country that was once their tomorrow and stood with a sinister smug on top of the ashes and smoke of the place that was once their home. Schlatt. “From this day on, I declare, as the new king of l’Manberg, Technoblade, Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit dead!” The beard man cried out, with Quackity standing next to him with a bow in hand, both laughing like maniacs. The words echoed across the nightly sky and would ring forever in Techno’s ears. </p><p> </p><p>A gulp down his throat, a hand curled into fists, and Techno threatened to shatter the emerald necklace in his palm. Anger, grief, shock twisted into an united hatred, as he glared up at the man and swore vengeance. Before he could do much else his eyes were met by Schlatt’s, who smirked and pointed. </p><p> </p><p>Techno narrowed his eyes at the motion. He was the first to sense it as he pushed Wilbur to the side. In another heartbeat an arrow plunged into his arm, but he didn’t wince, didn’t even flinch. They were shooting at them now. It wasn’t enough to destroy his castle, to take his title as king, to kill his father, to crush all their dreams and future. Schlatt apparently wanted them all dead.</p><p> </p><p>“Run!” He yelled at the others as more arrows plunged down from the sky and ran they did, down the path and out of the l’Manberg with their backs to the moon. </p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They kept running, even when thick woods surrounded them on all sides and their past receded into nothing but dots in the horizon. Bushes and branches swept by as they moved, slicing open pale skin and allowing rivets of crimson to trickle down uncovered arms and legs but Techno couldn’t feel, couldn’t care. Drops of blood splashed onto the ground, staining the brown and green a dark crimson red.</p><p> </p><p>Despite the stinging pain, despite everything, Techno didn’t stop and by the rustling of leaves behind him, the others didn’t either. He knew those behind him were counting on him, believing and following him without a word, trusting him to lead them and direct them to a safer place but he too didn’t know where to go and was feeling so very lost. He just wanted to get away. Away from the walls, away from the still soaring flag, away from the ruins of a castle. Away from the glances of confusion and hope that would scorch him if he looked back, away from the questions of a certain someone’s absence that would plague the air if they stopped, away from the feeling of suffocating grief. Away from the future, from the truth, the hurt, the responsibility, the need to calm down and plan and think—because how could he do that, how could he pretend that nothing happened when everything was so very wrong. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn't breath as a hiccup escaped his throat but he had to keep running. It was the only thing that distracted him from the steering pain rooted in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>But eventually, he started to slow down, his breathless gasps coming out harsh and cold. Bending over slightly, he grasped his chest, only now feeling the cold burning of his lungs and the rapid pounding of his heart. His eyes darted around him to find a nearby cave, which he pointed to weakly, signalling that they rest here for the rest of the night. Panting could be heard all around him; all of them needed a break.</p><p> </p><p>There was some idle chatter, but all was too shaken and exhausted to stay up for long. The family cuddled together, trying to reserve the remaining scraps of warmth as they all drift into a restless dream. Snoring soon sounded from all three shivering bodies except for one.</p><p> </p><p>Techno didn’t move from his position near the entrance, standing guard. Not doing much beside occasionally peeking his head out and staring into the depth of the forest, which were mere blurs of different shades of green, Techno slowly fell into a trance. For a moment he forgot why he was here, a feeling of blankness washing over his mind and for a moment, just a moment, everything was okay.</p><p> </p><p>Then the pain finally came.</p><p> </p><p>Hissing, he sunk to his knees, gripping his torn arms. His legs felt like lead bars, heavy and useless. Cramps were forming deep in his sides as well, muscles tired from the excretion and exhaustion. But he didn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>Closing his tired eyes, he allowed his body to rest. It felt as if he would never be able to move again. With a light groan, he leaned against the wall onto his wet back, staring up at the ceiling  high above. Without the dread, without the pain, without the anguish, he felt numb. Rubbing his face lightly, he tried to erase the dry tear-tracks from his skin, ignoring the fact that he was smearing sweat and blood onto his face.</p><p> </p><p>As he stared into the leaves of the trees, he felt, almost against his will, his eyes getting heavy. The scenes swayed before him, their colours bleeding out as his eyelids drooled. Before he knew it, he was plunged into a bottomless darkness. </p><p> </p><p>He was only jolted awake at the light tapping of rain as they danced above the cave, trickling down the edges. Dawn greeted the new day coldly as grim clouds covered the splashes of warmth and rosy-pink sky, transforming the world into a twisted and collapsing darkness. Thunder drummed, the earth shaking underneath its beats as the sky trembled, brightening for a fraction of second at the touches of lightning. Biting wind scratched his already frozen face as its screeches and screams brushed against the shells of his ears. The wind hissed some more, his hair blowing to the side as rain ruthlessly splatter onto her already battered clothing. </p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t, however, focused on how miserable he felt with his clothing clinged uncomfortably to his skin. No, his tired mind wandered back into a more past, somewhere he didn't want to go. Back to another storm, in a time that he should’ve treasured more, in a place that he should’ve been more grateful to be staying in. Back to a chess game, in a room that was warm and had walls on all sides. Back to a Knight that sacrificed its life for the King. His heart throbbing from the mere irony he extended a sore arm to stare at the green jewellery in his hand.</p><p> </p><p>Another shrieking wind howled, rattling branches and hissing as thunder crackled with flashes of light skimming through dark, grim sky. Droplets threw themselves against the cave, which stood on a hill where waves of pouring rain flooded the meadow couldn’t reach. All the ear could hear was the drumming of rain as they roared, plunging down from the boundless turmoil of swirling sky, a pensive grey tainting the faint sunlight. The world rumbled, growled and shook as a seemingly hurricane flooded down the street. </p><p> </p><p>Techno only watched distantly, his eyes remote and hiding a hint of melancholy, as drops of rain clinched desperately onto the emerald before sliding down as it tried to grasp and dug its fingers into the smooth surface. His eyes didn’t even flicker as the storm passed as quickly as it came, the sun breaking through and splashing a soft warmth on his somewhat stoic face as it turned the rain into diamonds of an instant. They plummet into the earth, shattering into thousands of minuscule shards as it flung in every direction before sinking into the drenched soil. </p><p> </p><p>Clasping his hands closed again and clipping the necklace on, he rubbed away all thoughts of sleep with the back of his palm and looked back at the unconscious brothers still blissfully ignorant of who was absent. He would need to wake them soon; they needed to find a more permanent shelter where they could build up their forces and their strength again. The break of the day shed its light into the cave, and all seem to go on like nothing has changed, like nothing was lost. The necklace felt heavy against his chest, like a promise that he had swore to keep, like an oath that he would fight and die for.</p><p> </p><p>There was movement, and he turned abruptly to face them. It was Tommy. The child stretched, yawning a bit, scratching the back of his head. “Wow. Who knew sleeping on the ground is so darn uncomfortable?”</p><p> </p><p>Techno looked away. He envied Tommy, who knew little enough to still be bothered by such trivial matters. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur turned in his sleep, but was clearly somewhat awoken by Tommy’s loud commotion. Fundy, too, had one eye open and the other closed. Only Tommy kicked out of the bed and stood up, looking around him. “Techno?” He asked, a goofy look tossed at the weary king. “I just realized this which is kinda dumb but, uh…”</p><p> </p><p>“Where’s Philza?” </p><p> </p><p>That was the last straw, all it had and will ever take for Techno to complete broke.</p><p> </p><p>And for the second time that day he violated his first principal, as his legs gave away and he broke into an irresistible sob, as he vaguely registered his brothers waking up and crowding around him, confused and trying to calm him—as an emerald necklace glistened underneath the soft morning light.</p><p> </p><p>~🎵As the god of the day set our country aflame, and the sun rose bloody and true. Arrows flung from the sky as we swallowed our pride, and ran with our backs to the moon. (...) As the break of the day shed its light on our hearts left battered and bruised. All the hope that we lay on the home that we made torn to pieces and left in the blue🎵~</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dadza was stained by Character Developement</p><p>Sorry Phil but in your perspective life’s a bit too good. You know what they say: things that are too good to be true are too good to last. </p><p>Plus, it’s inevitable. The plot ask and it will receive, be it incredibly morbid antagonist arc or the character development for its main protagonists. Nobody can escape the things a writer do for plot man.</p><p>Also, yes the last paragraph was the lyrics from An Ode to L’Manberg. All credits to the singer, just thought it was fitting to put it there.</p><p>No regrets writing this, though I’m not sure it’s angsty enough or at all. Welp, I tried. Maybe someone will cry reading this? Would really appreciate some comments and feedback on this chapter! </p><p>More updates soon (hopefully) and thanks for all the support I’ve been getting!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>18. Interlude II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*REMINDER* The below interlude is a cut scene into what’s happening in the canon world, not the AU in which the fanfic mainly progresses in. So Technoblade and Phil as well as any other characters within this and any future interludes would all be referring to their canon characters in the canon plot line of the Dream SMP, with their canon knowledge and memories.</p><p>Also important, italic text means flashbacks into the past.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Technoblade’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt cold as it slid down his face; A clear crystal, a diamond of an instant, dropped onto the page, dotting the lines of words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno looked up, blinking. Laying the book down on his desk, he placed a hand along his eyes and found them damp from tears. More trickled away, trailing a wet arc down his cheeks. He was crying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Confused, he rubbed his eyes, wiping them dry with his sleeves. Then, out of nowhere and so very abruptly, he was hit with a wave of melancholy and anguish. They flooded through him in such a magnitude that he choked, his breathing coming in gasps. His chest throbbing and his mind suddenly roaring with the splitting screams of the voices, his vision began to flicker into a crimson red and his surroundings began to spin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blood. Blood for the blood god. A united chanting akin to a battle cry beckoned him. He clutched the edge of the table hard, nails digging into the wood as he tried to calm himself, knowing he was losing control. Baring his teeth, gushing out deep breaths, he barely managed to regain composure after several long moments.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What the heck was that?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It all happened so fast, one in rapid succession to the other—one moment he was crying, the next in deep pain, then boiling anger, a lack of control and a- a swore of vengeance?—but now nothing remained but a splitting headache. He rubbed his chest at where the abrupt, sharp agony had been and still faintly lingered. Was this what Sam had spoken of? Didn’t the creeper man warn him about something like how ‘knowledge and alternative selves will begin to confus and mix, causing memories that never belonged to them will be recalled’? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If so, what did what he just felt mean, then? What was happening in that alternative world? Nothing good, he was sure. That didn’t feel pleasant at all. It felt strikingly painful, however brief it was for him just then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was… was Tommy safe? Did that idiot child die? Is that why Techno felt… desolate? It had come as a series of anguish, but after the despair, after the agony, after the grief, there was a state of bleak and dismal emptiness. A feeling of loss. Suddenly, a name came to him. A person he held more dear to his heart than a particular traitorous brother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Philza.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He jerked, pushing himself up and almost knocking over the chair. He was now acutely aware that he was only in the room. Where was Philza? A growing sense of urgency, sprouting vines of panic and a deep-rooted fear overrode any other senses as he slammed the door open, looking around him frantically. He ran through the fresh snow with an ominous dread weighing his steps. The air was frigid outside but he was sweating, beads of anxiety rolling down his forehead. Finding it difficult to calm down, to even take a breath, he bit his lips until he could taste the bitter scent of blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A raven feather as soft as silk fell, drifting down just in front Techno’s eyes. He looked up; a window was open on the second floor of the shack, rattling in the biting wind, and a glimpse of a trembling figure could be seen behind it. Without another moment of hesitation he raced back into the shack.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Philza’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t understand why he was colliding through the cascade of memories—of memories he didn’t know, wasn’t his—but he couldn’t stop. It was like trying to halt a train by grasping at the rails; he was only getting his hands burned as he fell faster and faster through glimpses of scenes, some he vaguely recall and others as clear as day. Kneeling in a pool of sweat he unconscious gripped his hair, pulling them slightly as his skin drained pale. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A small hand tucked on his robe. Phil halted, turning around slowly to spot a blob of brown hair looking down at the floor, as if deeply troubled, embarrassed. Concern furrowed his eyebrow as he asked gently at the rosy little face who refused to look at him. “What is it, Wilbur?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I… I can’t sleep.” The child mumbled, pouting slightly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Philza laughed a bright cheerful chuckle, relieved. “Oh, it’s just sleep trouble? I know an easy fix!” He put away what he was doing and stretched his arms, an inviting embrace. “Give your old man a hug! I’ve got a song for you!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur almost hesitated, looking puzzled. “O-okay…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Phil rubbed the back of the small child as he cooed against the shell of his ears. “This is a special tune, son. It’s about an imaginary land, a wonderful heaven where people are free and happy all the time. It can really be called anything but I like to call it &lt;&lt;L’Manberg&gt;&gt;.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Philza cleared his throat before, with a smiling voice, started singing softly.  ~🎵It all started on a day like any other, all the salmon had swum to the sea🎵~ </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~🎵When my lover she darted away down the stream, with the heart that she’d taken from me🎵~ Already little Wilbur’s breath had calmed, his back rise and falling to the rhythm of the song. Realizing that Wilbur had already fallen asleep, Phil carried the boy in his arms to his bedroom and tucked him in.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And with that his background suddenly changed, the colours bleeding away and the wooden walls twirling around him. He was now suddenly in a dark, cold place, nowhere like the previously warm, sleepy atmosphere of their home. November wind brushed ruthlessly against frozen cheeks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The same hand, now older, roughened by experience and smeared by gunpowder and blood, pulled Phil’s sleeves. A wrenching heartache cracked his voice as Phil raised his eyes lined with weariness and asked dryly. “Yes Will?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Can…” A splat of crimson joined the red pool on the floor, interrupting Wilbur’s words. A loud cough sounded before the rasp voice continued. “Can you sing me the rest of the song…? The one… the one you sang to me when I was young.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m having trouble sleeping.” Wilbur whispered out weakly. Clutching the boy who had grown into a full-fledged man and was now too tall for him to fully embrace Philza shook at the words, his lips broke into a torn smile. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Of course, Wilbur.” He could feel the sword piercing through his son’s chest, where blood continued to pulse out. His sword. It was his sword that was killing Wilbur. Tears rolled down uncontrollably as Phil struggled to hum out the tune steadily. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~🎵And my chest though it aches there was hope, a little beacon of light🎵~ He could feel the arms around him weaken, the light in Wilbur’s clouded eyes fading away along with the lines of fatigue trancing his face, leaving behind only a faint soft smile.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~🎵Though my sunniest day were now stolen away, I still had our son by my side🎵~ Phil thought of the innocent boy that would laugh at the slightest things, the cuddly hands that would curl firmly around his so trust fully. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur’s head dropped against his shoulder and his hands fell to his side. Phil dropped to his knees on the floor, clutching the cold body as he sat there, letting crimson red blossom and taint his clothing. Explosions sounded behind him but he could only hear silence with his face wet and cold, his eyes dead and filled with anguish. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah. Wilbur has already fallen asleep. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Phil!” The door slammed open and Phil blinked, feeling strong hands grip his shoulders, shaking him. “Phil what’s wrong?” A pink figure yelled loudly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-” Philza rubbed his eyes hard, wiping away what were clearly tears. He looked up, realizing the figure of Techno. The other’s eyes, eyes that were usually always so calm, were smeared by concern and almost betrayed panic. Phil managed to stutter out, “W-what just happened?” Wilbur. November 16th. Death. The scenes flashed in front of his vision briefly, lingering painfully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno wrapped his arms around him, whispering. “It’s complicated, but you’re here now and not going anywhere. That’s what matters.” Phil draped his wings, which felt more heavy and weighted than usual, over them, hugging back tightly until his breathing gradually calmed and he found his senses again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s all that matters.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Philza frowned a little, the rational part of him sensing clear flaws at those words. Realizing Techno’s eyes were just as damp as his and how much the other was shaking, he pulled away to look into the other’s eyes. Techno, however, did not return his gaze, for he was staring at something else. Following Techno’s glance Phil looked down and gasped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Around his neck laid the necklace which held the Family Emerald. It was a tradition, an ancient heirloom, a priceless possession that symbolizes trust and bond, love and peace, union and family. It was never to be taken off, a constant reminder of the presence of the other members as to never feel alone. Each was given a different type of  jewellery, representing individuality and uniqueness: Philza’s a necklace, Techno’s glittering on his crown, Wilbur’s a brooch and Tommy’s a cufflink while Fundy’s a bracelet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s was lost after his death, and Tommy’s stripped away from him in Techno’s fury during Doomsday. Fundy’s were stored away and no longer worn, perhaps even missing. There were only the two of them now, making the emeralds even more irreplaceable. The family that was once as strong and as unbreakable as the green gem itself had now fallen apart. It hurt Phil’s head to think of how they all got here, to curse to himself about all the things he could’ve changed, could’ve prevented. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But as Phil looked down in the present his eyes widened. His emerald...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was cracked.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Philza’s flashback was inspired/copied from @Sunaway’s thread &lt;&gt; from Twitter. All due credits to them and check out the amazing, original work here: https://twitter.com/sunaway_/status/1328822030410547200?s=20 </p><p>!IMPORTANT! Italic texts means flashbacks into the past. The use of italic texts will increase exponentially as we reaches the end of the story for as was explained in the first interlude, memories will get mixed more and more. Usually in the normal chapters (so any chapter beside the interludes) the flashbacks will be about things that happened to the corresponding Dream SMP Canon!Characters. </p><p>Interludes are short glimpse into the canon world and this one mainly focused on how the canon world is impacted by the turmoil of emotions in the king!Technoblade AU. These short chapters are usually there to prove a point or just extend the suspense, and usually not a developer of plot. </p><p>I’m really happy with the comments and support I’ve been getting and I just want to thank you all for making my days better! An update soon, I have exciting things planned. As always, feel free and you’re encouraged to comment and thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>19. Pogtopia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Death is not the greatest loss in life; the greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” - Tupac Shakur</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Tommy’s P.O.V</span>
</p><p>Everything was falling apart at the seams. The castle that was their home was destroyed, the country that was their kingdom was taken over, the crown that was their family’s symbol, that united them together, was robbed from them and placed on the head of a tyrant. Even Philza fell victim to the new storyline that history keeps getting paid to change.</p><p>Yet Tommy found himself perfectly calm.</p><p>It didn’t take long before they—the royal family that was presumed to be dead by the country that outcast them—found and settled down in a hidden ravine they had decided to call Pogtopia. As he dug his hand into the floor of their new home—a place that was foreign yet so very familiar to him at the same time—and felt the soft soil grind between his fingers, he smiled a little.</p><p>It was a somewhat sad thing to admit but in the canon world, when they were first provoked of their citizenship, his time in Pogtopia was actually one of the moments he now cherished the most. Without duty from l’Manberg, without wars on the horizon (yet), without any reason not to, it was a period of time when his family was the most united. It was he and Wilbur against the world but at least they were fighting shoulder to shoulder, back to back. The two bonded in those desperate times. There were less quarrels when they prepared for the revolution and Tommy had fun letting their boiling laughter echo down the cliff of the ravine. Techno was their ally, Tubbo their double-agent. Before Wilbur went insane, before Tubbo got executed, before Dream and his involvements, everything was good. Even though they lived and slept on rough surfaces of rocks, ate and gathered what they could find in scraps and pieces and wore clothing so thread-bare it can neither protect them from the blazing heat or the frigid coldness, it had been peaceful. Better, dare he say it, than it had been for a long time.</p><p>Now, in this alternative world, every problem that has arisen is gone overnight. Technoblade never had time to execute his plan to declare war against Dream, Wilbur never got a chance to poison Phil, and Dream’s threats… they were realized, therefore there was no longer a reason to fear for them. Although Schlatt was a problem, it wasn’t one he hadn’t gone through before. He knew how to deal with a dictator by now—he has met too many.</p><p>He just needed to convince his brothers that L’Manberg was worth fighting for. Change Techno’s mind about anarchy, stop Wilbur from going insane. Right. He just needed to spend some time with his family, show them what he saw and talk to them. He just needs to not die, he and Tubbo both.</p><p>Everything will be alright, he told himself.</p><p>So he wasn’t panicked at all and was, in contrast, feeling quite carefree as he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and walked around the woods nearby, letting the gentle sunlight graze his bare neck. Out of the tight l’Manberg uniform, his red T-shirt rippled in the wind as the breeze brushed his blond hair.</p><p>But as happy and nostalgic as he was to be back in Pogtopia, he knew not everyone shared this thought. In fact, it seemed nobody did. As shocked as he was about the news of Philza’s death, no one took it better than Tommy did—he had seen too much, lived too long to be shaken by quite anything now. It was quite interesting how the ‘child’ of the family was acting more mature than the others, though Tommy didn’t have anyone to laugh about this with.</p><p>For Wilbur it was an unshakable pensiveness that shrouded the man’s every move. Too often could one find him standing on the cliff top of Pogtopia, looking far beyond the woods and even horizon with squinting eyes in the direction of Manberg. What he was thinking, Tommy had no clue, and it didn’t help that the stubborn man always refused to explain and waved off Tommy’s questions dismissively.</p><p>For Fundy it was distancing himself from reality. He was barely seen at all, the furry speaking very little since they arrived and was just generally quiet, always scribbling in that journal of his. Tommy wondered but didn’t quite care enough to peek into the diary he knew to be precious, for Fundy kept it in an ender chest.</p><p>For Technoblade… Tommy wasn’t blind, wasn’t ignorant. He saw things, things like the quick twitch at the mention of bird feathers or wings, like the slight flinch whenever questions arose about a quite noticeable emerald necklace that all knew belonged to Phil. He heard things, like the buzzing of distant murmurs, of voices perhaps, that clouded dark eyes, like the sour bitterness that replaced the good-natured humour behind those occasional jokes. He noticed things, like the shaking hands that were once so firm, like the stoic voice that was once so chill, like the flicker of indignation, of wrath on that solemn expression that was once so relaxed and carefree.</p><p>Each sign was subtle, hidden well and betrayed only in fleeting moments, but Tommy recognized them from himself, from the Exile. Perhaps it was because of this that he didn’t want to think too much about it. He convinced himself that time would be enough to heal the wounds, even though he knew that was a lie. A glimpse at the broken, worn compass—he winced, a dagger to the heart—and he pushed it deeper into his pocket. There was no use thinking about the past. (He didn’t quite realize the irony of that thought.)</p><p>Traversing across the shaded forest path he hummed a tune. He kicked some pebbles off the road, boredom slowly dulling his enthusiasm. Hearing a light rustle to his left, he poked his heads out of the woods just in time to feel an arrow whistle past his face, brushing against his hair before plummeting into a tree behind him in a crack of wood.</p><p>It took him ten loud heartbeats to register what happened. Turning to the crossbow pointed at him and the person that held it firmly in hand, Tommy shouted melodramatically. “What the heck was that?! You almost killed me!”</p><p>“Sorry. Reflexes.” Techno shrugged as he slid the crossbow away before turning back to his book, which was flat on his lap.</p><p>He could tell Techno wanted to be alone, but as he had nothing better to do, Tommy was feeling like being obnoxious to his siblings today. Waltzing towards the stump that Techno was sitting on and was the base of the nice fortress of solitude, Tommy peeked over the pink strands of hair and tried to read the text on the yellow pages. A few moments of standing awkwardly passed with no acknowledgement of his presence and Tommy growled, pouting. “What is this, Sun Tzu? Some other old people’s book? Come on Techno, let’s do something actually not lame!”</p><p>A glare was tossed at him, Techno’s tone lacking any amusement. “Those who fail to learn from history are condemned to repeat it.” Tommy grimaced. Those words hit a little too close to home.</p><p>“And no, you uncultured fool, this is about the Trojan War.” Tommy laughed at the hint of humour, to which Techno’s expression seemed to ease. “But fine. If you aren’t going to leave me be, then how about we spar? I can use the practise.”</p><p>“Now that’s not what I’m talking about!” Tommy grinned, looking around them for sticks and crafting two wooden swords. As Techno stood ready Tommy dropped into a fighting stance as well, gripping the blade tightly.</p><p>For several seconds, there was silence in the center of the clearing as the two of them sized each other up. Tommy remembered the last spar, though it felt like ages ago. He hasn’t had time to train since then but he was confident that he had improved somehow. Maybe not good enough to win, but good enough to make it a closer match. With that thought he clenched his jaw and readied himself.</p><p>Techno’s foot moved, sliding smoothly across the grass. They began to circle each other, eyes locked and everything else fading from sight.</p><p>Tommy acted first, just like he did last time. His blow was blocked easily, but Tommy tried to press the sword to the side, only for Techno to disengage. The pigman still wasn’t being serious, his relaxed hands and soothed shoulders indicating that he was barely trying. Gritting his teeth, Tommy launched with a rapid fire blow to try to knock the other off balance. Throwing a leg behind him and letting gravity pitch him backward, the pigman dodged Tommy’s other attempt strikes seamlessly. One more block and Techno jumps back, his boots skid across the ground before he grinds them into the soft soil below, slowing his motion, his pink ponytail swinging behind him. A small cloud of dust kicks up into the air, but before Tommy could let his chest heave in dense breaths, Techno’s sword sliced through the air and missed Tommy’s shoulder by the skin. Tommy countered the strike, the force of it pushing his heels back.</p><p>Not sparing him a moment to rest, Techno threw himself into the air to thrash downward. Tommy dodged, rolling to the ground to try a down cut across the other’s ribs. Techno shifted away from it rather than block, side-stepping and trying to come in from Tommy’s left, who had just gotten back on his feet. With a rapid swirl of motion thrasted at him in a series of figure eights and his ridiculously light and precise footwork Techno forced Tommy back again.</p><p>Tommy’s red shirt was damp now, slick and uncomfortable as it clung to his gasping chest. Techno too was breathing hard, though nowhere near out of breath yet. Thrusting another overhand blow downward, Techno pushed hard as Tommy’s arms trembled, struggling hard under the weight.</p><p>It was just then that a raven feather as soft as silk fell from the sky and slid through the air between them. Techno’s eyes immediately focused on it, and Tommy could almost glimpse the million images flashing within the dark pupil. Uncountable scenes that zipped past too fast for Tommy to comprehend—TNT, wings, blue eyes, guilt, last words, goodbyes, uselessness, concrete falling, collapsing onto a shaking figure, the necklace—were enough to make Techno freeze completely.</p><p>Grasping the opportunity of this distraction, Tommy swept his blade upward and Techno blinked back into the present, dodging it almost automatically but by just a fraction of a second too late. The sword slid past Techno’s neck and caught the string of an emerald necklace, cutting it loose.</p><p>In an instant, time slowed. Tommy watched as something snapped within Techno’s widened, bloodshot eyes—it was like watching the air boil around them, flaring anger fueled by grief and a vengeful hatred. But it was too late by the time Tommy realized this with a startled look. Before Tommy could understand what it all meant, with a flurry of pink hair a hand reached to grab the necklace mid-air.</p><p>In another heartbeat, the wooden sword flung from Techno’s hand and the pigman drew instead an iron blade from his sheath. All Tommy heard was a dramatic ringing sound and the ominous glinting of metal in the light. Faster than seemingly possible Techno striked, not giving Tommy a moment to react, to yelp, to apologize, to explain. Techno’s shoulders tensed, his grip on his sword switched to an offence position. He was leaning forward, his teeth bared and his eyes unwavering.</p><p>Technoblade lunged.</p><p>Tommy was forced to bend backward under the ferocity of his attack, catching the iron blade on both of his wooden ones, for upon instincts he had picked up the sword that Techno dropped. Techno slipped past him on one side, swung around, and aimed a blow at the abode men. Their swords clanged onto each other as Tommy blocked by getting his blades up just in time.</p><p>Tommy didn’t expect the elbow strike that sliced his forearm, that drew a line of red; the sudden, stinging pain made him bring his blade back down, spinning it with his good hand as his feet slid back in half-circles to keep him upright and untangled from his own limbs. But Techno didn’t halt nor wait, dashing around Tommy and throwing himself into the fury as sunbeams reflected off metal and sweat.</p><p>In a loud crack the iron blade snapped its wooden counterpart in half, but Techno didn’t stop. Tommy’s back fell to the ground, his head jerking up as Techno’s sword swept up. Tommy’s blue eyes broadened with fear as he opened his mouth to shout, to awake his brother from a clear trance, but no voice came to his throat. Standing over him Techno didn’t hesitate as his blade came plummeting downward, as all Tommy could do was held his arms over his face in a protective stance and-</p><p>Tommy anticipated a piercing, splitting pain, anticipated a sour splatter of blood, anticipated perhaps even death. He had squeezed his eyes shut, had clutch his hands in fists, had clenched his teeth hard. His heart was a deafening drum in his ears that threatened to break his rib cage. But after a long pause, after a brisk breeze blew, after the chirping of birds continued, nothing came.</p><p>He peeked his eyes open to find the sharp point of the sword dangling inches above his nose and was held by shaking hands. It was only by either luck or fate that Techno had snapped out of it at the last second and halted his attack that would’ve definitely inflicted injury.</p><p>Tommy stared up. Underneath the pink hair drooling down one could see that Techno’s eyes were a bright, devilish crimson, his tusks bared, his hands extended with sharp claws. As the monstrous features retracted and with blink and two, the blade was slowly lifted, Tommy scouched away from underneath it, still panting.</p><p>“I’m sorry-” Techno avoided Tommy’s eyes as he stepped away, sheathing his blade.</p><p>“It’s fine.” Tommy interrupted, giving the other an uncertain smile. He vaguely remembers the moments in his childhood, moments so rare that he nearly forgot about them, moments where even the most calm person in the house lacked control.</p><p>Techno opened his mouth as if to say ‘it’s not fine’, but those words were left unspoken. Instead, the other just nodded thankfully and turned to face the horizon, not looking towards Tommy at all. “You did better this time.”</p><p>“Still not good enough to win though, huh?” Tommy crouched to pick up the wooden pieces of what once was his sword. His heart sunk a little; he really did think he had a chance of making the match a tie, perhaps. Then again, this spar wasn’t exactly the most fair and square.</p><p>The atmosphere remained a heavy, suffocating air that overrode the awkwardness of the quietness. After another pause, Techno tried to break the silence, cracking a small joke. “If you wish to defeat me, train for another one thousand years.”</p><p>Tommy chuckled, hoping his loud laughter would ease the tension. As Tommy watched the weighed, loaded shoulders of his sibling finally slacken slightly, as he glimpsed the deep sadness that has now replaced the fury in those dark eyes, he crossed his fingers behind his back with a sigh.</p><p>All how desperately he hoped that time, against all odds, would eventually heal all wounds.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span class="u"><br/>
Technoblade’s P.O.V</span>
</p><p>The warmth of the sun brushed the meadow with gentle fingers, creating waves in the soft blades of grass. Leaves and branches around him dotted the floor with their shadows, creating pleasant shade. A light breeze and the quiet chirping of a distant songbird was all there was that disturbed the tranquility of the hazy afternoon. A gravestone—handmade with rough edges that gave it an ancient look—was set in the center, surrounded by bouquets of daisies and poppies whose vines adorned the plain surface. For you the world, Phil were the simple words carved on it.</p><p>Techno kneeled in front of the tombstone, his hands in his lap. His bleak, near vacant eyes grew remote as he draped a tattered hat over the flowers.</p><p>It has been days since Tommy asked, out of an innocent, ignorant curiosity , about Philza’s whereabouts. That moment, he could see himself drop to the floor, had heard his own wails as tears uncontrollably flooded down, as his brothers came with faces of shock—it was as if he was watching everything from a third-person’s perspective. But his mind was curse-fully clear. It was so clear that there wasn’t space to drown himself in denial, in shock or blind hope; only realization dawned to him, the realization that Phil was dead. The immense emptiness he felt in the heart was what had eventually stopped the turmoil of emotion within him when he told his brothers the news. But he did not know how to keep his calm for long, and managed to ask to be left alone with his voice evenly.</p><p>It was hard the first few mornings in Pogtopia. Everything flashed around him like a shadow as if he were in a nightmare, his body refusing to awaken. A glimpse at his own reflection in a stream and his hands would began to tremble, his heart would began to ache, his mind began to spin; and he would leave the riverside, as fast as he could, his heavy chest trying to hold his breath as he clenched to the point where the jaw started to hurt.</p><p>He tried to distract himself with mining, with collecting resources. They needed to get back on their feet, fast. Somehow, Schlatt managed to blow up not only all of their bedrooms as well as exactly where he and Philza was at the moment, but also the storage place where he had stored almost all his weapons and armours, so stealing wasn’t even an option (is it still stealing if those things were theirs to begin with?). It seemed hopeless that they can even survive in the wild, much less accumulate wealth to a quantity anything remotely close to what they had before. But he ought to try. Instructing Fundy with the food and animal reproduction, Wilbur and Tommy with mining in the over-world and himself to the Nether, their pace was steady. Vaguely he recognized that he had arranged himself the most dangerous work of them all, though had he had a choice he would have taken all the jobs himself; none of the jobs were safe enough to guarantee security and without his supervision, who knows if his brothers, as stubborn and reckless as they are, won’t fall into a lava pit and…</p><p>He swore, if they died too…</p><p>But no amount of sore arms and legs, of skin red and burnt badly from spending too much time in that lava-filled hell, could make him forget forever. Each night he would drag himself to his room before collapsing onto the ground. He would wish to forcefully drag his body up, to sooth his splitting headache that would reappear every evening, but his body was too tired and too pained to listen to command. His eyes would shudder—and he would feel the cold metal that pierced through his heart, a weapon no sharper than the sword of agony and pain. He would not realize the tears that circled his eyes as a voice in his head mimicked his most dreadful fears. That voice was not like the usual ones. That voice was much more cruel, his words mercilessly biting and so very loud.</p><p>“This is your fault, you let him die.” They would whispered.</p><p>“I did not… I didn’t want to…” He almost choked, and the pride which was the only thing that boasted his heart, the only shore free of guilt and regrets, the only reason he was still seemingly calm in front of his brothers, shattered as the whole world fell at his feet.</p><p>“I’m sorry…” His words were just a desperate sound from his lips. With one hand clutching his bedsheet, almost wanting to rip it to pieces, while the other gripped into a fist, his nails marking his skin, tears poured down. He doesn’t deserve to cry. He doesn’t deserve to live.</p><p>“He said it was fine. He said it will be okay. I didn’t decide this, he did! Didn’t you, Phil?”</p><p>“Don’t defend yourself. Don’t argue.” A shadow leaned over him, shrouding his mind as it spoke with Philza's voice.</p><p>“Phil...”</p><p>“It’s okay. I’m sorry. I forgive you.” The voice hushed gently.</p><p>Techno covered his mouth, trying to stop the hiccup that is leaving his lips. Every effort to keep calm was futile, tears rolled down his cheeks, he heaved heavy breaths, taking more air at each breath, as if it had never been enough. He did not realize the time passed, and although long after the heart could bottle up his feelings, after the pain gradually faded, and he stopped breathing steeply, his hands are no longer shivering, he still didn’t move.</p><p>Eventually the anguish dulled into nothing but a numb ache. He would rise in the morning so early that no one would catch even a glimpse of him as he checked on each of his family before slipping into the portal for the whole. Only until the night grew dark and it was impossible to see beyond one’s nose would he come back and catch a wink of sleep, but not before he made sure all three other heads were tucked into their bed and had drifted into a sound dream. His presence was like a ghost, one that haunted Pogtopia like a guardian. Days and weeks would go by the same, until his work in the Nether was so predominant that he would be better off joining forces and helping Tommy and Wilbur—who, although double the people, was much less efficient—with their search for diamonds.</p><p>He was told by those with admiring eyes that he was special and talented. He was told by those with envious faces he was dedicated and skilled to the point of illegitimacy. He was told even by close family and friends that he was hardworking and gifted, that something about him was different and better than everyone else.</p><p>If he really was so great, so brilliant, so gifted, why did he sit in shock and fear and watched helplessly as his own father crumbled underneath piles of stone? If he really was so strong and tried so hard in his training, why is it that when it was time to put everything into use he couldn’t save a single person he cared about? If he really was so admirable, so impressive, so worthy of Philza’s sacrifice, why is it that he couldn’t and will never forgive himself for standing by, for doing nothing that fateful night when he should’ve done something, anything—when it should’ve been he that died?</p><p>Those questions ringed in his head and haunted his mind, his soul. He did not smile, did not thank those who tried to comfort him, did not cry for his tears were dry. He felt suffocated. Tortured. Until he reached the only rational conclusion, to one thought that was a solace to all his guilt, the one place where he can channel all his grief and regret and pain into and contain them safely until the time comes. And that time was soon.</p><p>As he sat in front to fit gravestone there was a sense of peace, and he enjoyed for the first time in a while, solitude over loneliness. Whispering to the air, to the vines and flowers as an emerald necklace glistened in the sun, he sighed. “You know, a long time ago, I swore of violence. But I think I’m gonna have to break that vow. I’ve been trying to have ideals. I…I’ll be a good ruler, I’ll be a pacifist, a king. I’ll show those imprisoned and overthrown mercy… No one cares. Ideals don't work. The only thing that works in this world is that you treat others like they treat you, all right?”</p><p>“Those who have treated me with kindness? I’ll repay that kindness tenfold.” He gestured with his hands at the bird perched on a nearby branch that was peeking curiously down at him.</p><p>“And those that have treated me with injustice, that hurt my friends and my family?” Fist curled, his eyes narrowed as they glowed a dangerous crimson. “I shall repay that injustice a thousand times over.”</p><p>His rough hand stroked the worn, thread-bare hat one last time, before he clenched his jaw and unsheathed his blade. With the sharp edge he drew a line of crimson along his forearm, letting the blood trickle down to taint the floor and grass. A shrill wind hissed, blowing his hair into a wild parade as a twig snapped in the distance and a shadow perched on a nearby tree froze, but Techno was too focused to sense this. “I’ll abolish the government. I’ll leave a smoking crater from which not only will L’Manberg never recover but from which no new country can rise in its place. History will forget that a nation ever existed in this area. May this world slowly regress into a dog-eat-dog world where only the strong survive and the weak live huddled in fear.”</p><p>(The most dangerous kind of anger are those fueled by grief, for they are voiceless and bitter yet at the same time a scorching fire that ceases to burn out and only roar stronger with time.)</p><p>He saw the fear in Tommy’s eyes when they had their spar—the boy looked as if he was frightened for his life, his hands trembling so hard that he dropped the sword—, saw the caution in Wilbur’s face that one time when they had a brief chat—he could feel the heaviness of the air, could sense the tension as Wilbur’s arms went stiff. His brothers must’ve thought he was just still mourning. They didn’t know, didn’t understand, couldn’t possibly understand that grief had burnt his heart hollow, leaving only anger still spreading like a wildfire at its empty core.</p><p>An eye for an eye and the world goes blind, Mahatma Granhi once said. But in Techno’s blind, silent fury he didn’t care what Wilbur thought, what Tommy thought, what anyone may think. Even death sought in the most gruesome fashion was still too merciful, too brief to those he now bear true hatred for; he wanted to let Schlatt, Quackity and anyone else involved in the Night after the Festival watch their world burn in the way he did when Philza died. He wants vengeance, retribution. He wants blood.</p><p>Standing up, dusting his shoulder and with a mind full of now howling voices—Blood for the blood god, they chanted in unison, a battle cry—he turned away from the grave. A vow has been made, an oath of blood, a promise that, this time, he wouldn’t break.</p><p>“It will happen, Phil. For you the world.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You know what, instead of apologizing for the slow updates, I’m just going to go and finish writing the next chapter! </p><p>UPDATE: The next chapter is now done, so I can safely guarantee publishing it in the next 2-3 days!</p><p>Thank you all so much for the support! As always comments and feedback are greatly appreciated, and hope you enjoyed reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>20. Something History Has Never Seen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“It’s hard to put a leash on a dog once you’ve put a crown on its head.” - Tryion Lannister</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tubbo’s P.O.V</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Widened eyes were filled with fear and dread as Tubbo cranked his neck up to look at the man who stood so proudly on a pile of debris and ruins that was all that was left of a glorious castle. The gruesome scene of land being covered in a sheet of gunpowder and dust stage, of ripped lanterns and torn banners, of bruised walls and an echo of a happy family no longer ringing within the halls was akin to Schlatt’s stage, his own very podium, the product of his destructive, brutal operation. Yet there was not a hint of guilt in those smug eyes and arrogant smirk as the bearded man cleared his throat and looked down upon his people, upon Tubbo and Niki and Ponk and Ranboo and Jack Manifold and everyone alarmed and shaken by the event last night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would like to thank everyone for coming to my inauguration as the president of L’Manberg. This is a celebration of democracy, the very democracy that put me in power, that gave me the right to rule over the land that is rightfully mine, not the dictator that was here before me. The democracy that will lead l’Manberg to live up to its fullest potential.” Schlatt gestured around him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How is it democracy that you blew up half of the castle, chased away the previous royal family and still, in the name of good, come to us as our new leader? How is vandalism of the highest degree and unjustifyingly overthrowing the previous king in position, a symbol of the democracy you now praise and preach?” Someone shouted, bravely at that, their identity shielded within anonymity amidst the crowd. Whispers aroused from those words, and Tubbo looked around him with hopeful eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A menacing glare from the new president was enough to hush the crowd. Jschlatt replied calmly, readily. “Wilbur praised democracy too. He agreed to hold a presidential election but when he did, what happened? How is it democracy, I ask you, when that tyrant disqualified a perfectly legitimate and allowed coalition between me and Quackity? How is it democracy when that hypocrite threw me, who because of the coalition won that election fair and square, into a pit with no indication of ever letting me out? How was it democracy when Wilbur Soot abruptly changed the form of government to hide the fact that not only did he go back on his promises of fairness and justice but also cheated the election? He had no right to select the new king, yet he did anyway. Where was democracy in that, I ask you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence. Tubbo bit his lips, clutching his hands. Fate was so very merciless and cruel to let him watch history repeat without giving him the ability to change things. Schlatt seemed to gloat even more as he shouted. “Now you have no words to say, huh?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo felt around his pocket, the need to do something, anything, boiling underneath his skin as his fingers itched for action. His hands found themselves around a bow and an arrow. Drawing the string back he pointed up at the man still bellowing at them, his heart a deafening drum in his ears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But something stopped him. Killing Schlatt wouldn’t do anything. Killing Schlatt wouldn’t fix a single problem, he thought to himself, sliding the bow away. Quackity will just take over and-... it will change nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bearded man continued, his mic booming his voice down and across the entire Dream SMP. “Democracy is overrated. But in both perspectives, I am the rightful president of this great country! Not those dictators that, from this day on, will be forgotten as nothing but a relic of history! They’re dead to me, to you, and to the rest of  L’Manberg.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo knew they weren’t dead. He could sense it. They are at where Pogtopia was and Tubbo, when he can, will go there and find them and make sure they’re okay because- Because Tommy couldn’t be dead. Fate, however tempted, would never let them die before relinquishing them in all their past suffering and trauma. As if they haven’t gone through enough. As if they haven’t come so far, so far as to go back time to just try and save what was never meant to stand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Tubbo?” Jschlatt shouted, and the crowd parted to let the spotlight settle on him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All clenched jaws and fists, Tubbo stuttered. “I-I’m right here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt sounded like his patience was running dangerously thin. “Get up here! Tubbo, get up here now! Do you want the job or not?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- I do want the job.” The words were familiar as they rolled off his tongue. A past, a dark period of history that Tubbo promised to never let repeat, was repeating again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The new president crackled, petting him heavily on the back when he finally climbed up the pile of rock chunks. Schlatt lowered his head, whispering into his ears in a rough hush of breath.“As my Secretary of State, as my right hand man! You have an important job. I need you to find the previous family in position and show them the door. They’re to be chased as far away as possible, far away from l’Manberg, from even the Dream SMP. You got that?” Tubbo nodded numbly. It was an opportunity, an excuse to do what he wanted to do anyways.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But time passed and Schlatt never gave him the chance to leave his side. Days flashed by in a haze and slipped through his fingers as more speeches were given and history moved on as planned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A podium was restored to its former glory, and the voice now boom down from it. “People of L’Manberg. The sun rises over another beautiful day in our country, the sun rises on another chapter! The next page of the history that children will be reading till the end of time. I reckon our nation needs to expand! I reckon we’ve- we’ve done our country a great disservice! I reckon we take down the walls.” Some gasped at this while others protested, with Niki's sharp voice one of those who did. But Schlatt ignored them, and moved on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Effective immediately. All citizens of L’Manberg are required to help tear down the walls of this country. That is the end of the second presidential speech. Let’s get to work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A blink, and dawn turned dusk, with Tubbo standing on the podium beside Jschlatt again. “Ladies and gentlemen of this great nation! I come to you on only the second day of my reign over this wonderful country and we have totally, completely removed all walls; The cages that had held back the citizens of this glorious nation have been removed! The country has been unchanged! And you know what? Enough of living in the past. No walls. No uniforms. I say we rename this country! No longer will this nation be called </span>
  <em>
    <span>L’Manberg.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I say that’s rather out of date; no one uses the apostrophe anymore.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time the crowd was more than just shocked. There was anger, a depth in the frustration that sounded around the podium. “Don’t do this!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jschlatt hollered above their voices. “I say—effective immediately!—our great nation is now </span>
  <b>Manberg</b>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to pay for this.” Someone yelled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another shouted, sounding much like Eret. “You have no respect for history!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Most of the crowd were still silent. Only Quackity clapped and cheered above the commotion as Jschlatt pointed a finger to the sky, gesturing expressively. “This country will no longer take Ls! We’re victorious. We don’t take Ls, Tommy Innit and Wilbur Soot, only you do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo watched it all happen, just smiling weakly or not smiling at all. He just needed to talk to Tommy. They needed to plan something, and they needed to do it fast. With things moving at the speed they are, November 16th and Doomsday are just around the corner, and they were running out of time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Casting a melancholic glance at the new L’Manberg—no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Manberg</span>
  </em>
  <span>—flag, Tubbo hurried his steps as he ran down the hall; Mr. President had called him for a short talk, and the man didn’t like to wait. Clutching a folder of paper against his chest, he looked out the window as he sprint past them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they first arrived in this alternative world, with hopes of a better future or at least, a better past, all Tubbo had wanted was to be a child again. Away from the present, away from the trauma of yesterday and the worries of tomorrow, he just wanted to play, to laugh, to goof around, to be as carefree and happy and innocent as he was before he was president, before Wilbur died, before the Election. Before L’Manberg. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so Tubbo had avoided all and any talk about their mission, about the reason they passed that portal in the first place. And so they had just gone with the flow, attempting half-heartedly to slightly impact seemingly important decisions, while in reality they had changed nothing. Nothing about Schlatt and Quackity’s imprisonment, about the Festival, about the possibility of war.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And now it was too late.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opening the door to the room, slightly breathless, Tubbo asked. “What is it, Schlatt?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The president had his back to him and was talking to Sam, the new citizen and the engineer of the country. “I want this whole section rebuilt </span>
  <em>
    <span>out of obsidian</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This will be my future bedroom so I feel like it’s quite necessary to take some seemingly extreme measures to fix the </span>
  <em>
    <span>vulnerability </span>
  </em>
  <span>the last room had, don’t you think?” Schlatt said in a taunting tone, pointing at a giant hole in the castle. Sam nodded without a word, looking quite uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo’s eyes widened as he stepped closer to what was left of the room, feeling the chilling air brushing his cheeks harshly. Furrowing his eyebrows, he tried to recall what was here before. Techno’s bedroom was in the same hallway, and so was the armoury room. His feet poked the ashes of burnt paper on the floor. Right, there was a library here too. His nose tinkled at a sudden gush of an acidic scent. It smelt like burnt feathers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he could dwell on the thought, Schlatt turned around. “Ah, my right hand man! Have you brought what I told you to?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo nodded as he dropped the things on the floor. “Yes. An ink sac, some feathers, leather and paper…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excellent! Now, Tubbo, an extremely suspicious man is going to be coming very soon and you are going to make sure he doesn’t see me until I signal you. Sam, you’re dismissed for the moment.” As Sam bowed and left, Tubbo squinted into the darkness, confused by his instructions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A soft breeze grazed his neck as a light tap on the stone floor sounded. “An extremely suspicious man… Could that be me?” Dream asked in an indecipherable tone, slipping his trident away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt instantly tried to hide the materials Tubbo had left on the floor, but Dream had already seen them. The sword Nightmare glimmered in the evening light as it was held close to the president’s face, who froze. “Not so fast.” Dream said, eyes narrowing and his smile twisting into a knowing, mocking grin. “You think you can just hand me a replica of the Book, after all I’ve done for you? You think I don’t have more TNT, that I can’t just bring terrible karma to your administration? Don’t think that I won’t do it just because you’re an ally. Look at what happened with Eret. Do you wish to join that traitorous man?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt was silent. Tubbo took a step back, Dream’s words sinking into his mind quickly. It all makes sense now—Eret’s sudden dethronement, the source of TNT, how Schlatt escaped in the first place. His heart drummed at the news. Tommy. Tommy needs to hear this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a pause, Dream continued. “I’m not here for this. I’m here to deliver a warning. You know, do L’Manberg—or is it Manberg, now?— a solid favor.” It was then that Dream threw a brief glance at Tubbo, a look enough to send a cold shiver crawling down his spine, before pulling out something and tossed it to the ground. It was a striped hat of green and white, torn and ripped at the edges. Tubbo stared at the familiar accessory, blinking hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. Impossible.” Tubbo looked back at Dream, taking another step back as he covered his mouth. “It can’t be.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream chuckled, as if the topic was a joke. An awfully cruel joke. “But it can be, and it is! There was a casualty from what will be known as the Night of the Festival. Philza Minecraft.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s not right. Philza can’t have died. It was too early. Philza was the one who would kill Wilbur. He was the one that would help Techno on Doomsday. It wasn’t- That’s not-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But that’s not supposed to happen. I made sure that the TNT wouldn’t…!” Schlatt, to Tubbo’s surprise, voiced his thoughts. The president actually looked shocked. Alarmed, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream shrugged nonchalantly. “Accidents happen.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo gritted his teeth at Dream’s uncaring attitude. ‘Accidents’ don’t happen, not when he knew what was </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to happen. What did this change? How important is this change? How will this affect the history? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A part of him felt sorry for the winged man, the only one that stood by Technoblade during the toughest of times. He felt sorry, too, for those he left behind, for the one particular pig that must be beyond angry right now. He thought of how Phil had helped him build the bee house, how the man was a chill company that he quite enjoyed. But Philza and Tubbo were never close, not in the old world. They were enemies, even, for they always found themselves on polar sides. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream was still talking. “What I want to warn you about is not Phil’s death specifically, but the consequences or one could say, the inevitable aftermath of his death. In short, you need to be prepared for Technoblade.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade. Tubbo thought of the king who had ruled surprisingly well, perhaps has even created the golden afternoon for l’Manberg. At the same time he thought of the anarchist that executed him, blew him up in colours and festive fireworks. He thought of the two withers on November 16th, whose damage was dwarfed by the countless withers and the hound army on Doomsday. “But Technoblade is one of the most dangerous people on the server.” Tubbo said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream turned to Schlatt, ignoring Tubbo’s comment. “He will not be on your side after this. You won't be able to neutralize him either, for I heard he is quite vengeful. You must seek to eradicate him if you wish to secure your throne, but that I will not aid you with. Our deal is done, Schlatt, and the moment you hand me the Book, you are on your own.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> As Dream turned to leave, one could see a grin widening as he whispered, his words sounding cryptic and knowing enough to make Tubbo’s hair stand on end:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good luck preparing to face a wrath that history has never seen before.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s P.O.V</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first day after the Festival, as the wind picks up on the cliff top of Pogtopia, a wave of scalding dread washes over him. He could smell the stench of blood in the air, accompanied by the omnipresent smell of burning wood and thatch. Such carnage was akin to a scene of war. He looked at L’Manberg, where the breathtaking castle of the nation stood strong and defiant amongst the overwhelming plumes of smoke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hollow sensation of indifference gnawed at him and tore his throat when Philza was announced dead, and it happened again when Schlatt was declared president. It was an emptiness of emotion so great it terrified him, puzzled him and disgusted him—how could he feel no sorrow, grief nor remorse for his own father’s death? And what for the country that he swore would be his? Yet that was what it was, and now he was left numb and conflicted as biting wind scratched his frozen cheeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone approached him, but he did not turn. Thinking it was Tommy, he completely ignored the shadow looming over him until a voice spoke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. I didn’t think anyone would be here.” Techno said, betraying not a hint of emotion in his monotonous tone. The pigman had a violin in hand and was leaning against a tree whose shade hid his expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur raised an eyebrow at the instrument, curiosity rippling his nonchalance. “Violin. You haven't played that in a while.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yah.” Techno came to sit beside him, placing the instrument in his lap and looking out to the horizon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Philza used to like it.” Wilbur poked the ground with a stick, trying to continue the conversation. Something bitter stirred from his words however, as he recalled the old man who would clap and cheer for the boy with a violin but not the boy with a guitar. He remembers throwing his guitar violently onto the floor, not touching it for weeks after the concert and letting it collect dust angrily. He remembered finally plucking its strings again in boredom on a hazy afternoon, remembered smiling and humming to himself as he created a brief tune, remembered learning that he could be proud of himself even without acknowledgement, without praise from a certain ignorant father.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a pause. Techno stiffened at the name, avoiding Wilbur’s glance. “He did.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence fell. It occurred to Wilbur how long it had been since he and Techno had had time to sit down and simply chat as friends, as family, as brothers. The air was dry as he stumbled for words, searching to no avail to find a topic, an excuse to break the silence. Wilbur tried again. “Wanna play a song or something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno shrugged. “Not sure. Since it’s been so long I’m not sure I still remember how. And even if I do remember… Beginner's violin practice is just a very, very pleasant sound for sore ears.” Wilbur laughed at the obvious sarcasm as a crooked idea was crawling its way into his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t recall even one time where he had seen Techno fail, had seen Techno disappoint or pale in comparison to someone else. The pig king really has always been the perfect child, so very competent and calm and excellent at not only exceeding but going above and beyond all expectations. Always there to steal the spotlight, to overshadow those around him seemingly unconsciously, his brother was just utterly unrivallable by any competition both within and without their household. Philza’s obvious favoritism only made matters worse. This once frustrated him to the bone, irritated him to the teeth as jealousy slithered through his thoughts like poison. It was one of the reasons he had escaped that shack in the woods, had escaped the feeling of inadequacy and inferiority that caged him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, although Philza wouldn’t be here to watch it, the devils by his ears were excited to see Techno, the boy who was praised to be a talented young genius every since childhood, fail. Wilbur encouraged, “Come on! I think you should try to play something. It will probably be fine. You know what? I will play with you. It will be a duet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not giving Techno a moment to respond, Wilbur brought his guitar to his lap and settled into position. Techno frowned, opened his mouth to protest before closing them, agreeing reluctantly. “Fine. What song?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur paused and thought for a moment before stroking the strings of the guitar, playing a triad. “Let’s try the l’Manberg anthem. It’s basically Hallelujah. We’ve played it a thousand times when we were children.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Resting the violin on his collarbone and supporting it with his left hand and shoulder, Techno hesitated before placing the bow delicately onto the strings. Wilbur’s hands dangled above the familiar notes and began, clearing his throat slightly</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“~There once was a special place,” He sang, “where men could go and emancipate,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The brutality and tyranny of their rulers~” He remembered the lyrics by heart, remembered scribbling feverishly down on a piece of scroll before playing the tunes out on his guitar, remember feeling the morning through the blinds and realized he hadn’t slept through his sudden burst of inspiration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“~Well this place exists you needn’t fret,” The woods were quiet, the birds hushed to let the music echo through the trees. To his slight disappointment, though he was too focused on the song, Techno played the violin beautifully, without a hiccup or a delay, without errors or pauses. The two tunes—the main melody of the violin and the soft background strokes of the guitar—entwined to adorn the tune.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo,  f*ck Eret~” He remembered laughing when he wrote that part, remembered hoping that Tommy, the child that he is, will like it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“~It’s a very big and definitely not-” His voice cracked at that moment as he choked on the words. Heat flushed up his cheeks and wishing Techno wouldn’t noticed, he quickly continued, pushing down the emotions that rushed to his throat. “-not blown up l’Manberg~”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“~My l’Manberg, my l’Manberg~”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was then that it all dawned to him too suddenly, shattering his sense of denial and indifference. L’Manberg was gone. His l’Manberg was gone. His crown, his throne, his title. His country, the nation that he built and raised and founded, the embodiment of all his hopes and dreams. His symphony. It was all gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“~My l’Manberg, my-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinked, and a thousand, incomprehensible images flashed across his vision. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There was a burnt L’Manberg flag, a black, unrecognizable one taking its place. There were walls broken down, a nation’s name and ideology changed. There were fireworks—another festival—and a podium stained with blood. There was a revolution, a truck, empty bottles and heart attacks. There was a room, a button, millions of TNT. There was a piercing pain, a blade through his chest, arms and wings and feathers around him. There was a house on fire, there were walls again, this time made of obsidian. There was a masked man, a young president, a hurt, exiled friend. There was a blue sheep, a fallen anvil, a totem of undying. There was a crater where the community house was, two discs passed from one hand to another, there was a betrayal and a new alliance. There were armies of hounds, of  withers, of more explosions raining from the sky. Everything was torn to pieces and left in the blue, everyone broken and divided, every tie to each other severed and thread-bare.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...L’Manberg~” Wilbur had to rub his eyes with the inside of his palm to stop the visions. Blinking hard, he tried to register what just happened, but the memories—they felt like memories except they weren’t his—were already fading, unable to grasp back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” A hand was placed on his shoulder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Philza held a cold body in his laps as tears and blood dotted the floor, as arms fell motionless and the light in a pair of brown eyes grew dim. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur flinched away from the hand only to see Techno’s concerned, puzzled eyes. Wilbur stuttered, looking away. “Oh y-yah! Yah. I’m fine. Uh…That was amazing! You’re not bad at all at the violin. You still got it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno frowned slightly but didn’t say anything more. Instead the pigman flapped his ears lazily and stood up, turning his heels and dragging the violin behind him. It took Wilbur too long to realize Techno was leaving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A part of him seeked the warmth of company, and he held up his hand to reach for the receding shadow—solitude now sounded so bitterly cold, so lonely. Another part of him watched Techno leave and eventually disappear into the ravine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur let himself sit there numbly, sinking into the turmoil that was his thoughts flooding his senses. He thought of the eyes and hands he knew from a childhood of fooling and goofing around, thought of the pink hair that made his brother stand out in a crowd. He thought of the helplessness that clawed at his chest as a child when Techno would lose control and worse, hurt himself for it afterwards. He thought of the jealousy, a burning sour taste at the back of his throat, that stinged his eyes when he watched Philza hold Techno in his wings and soothed the pigman with gentle words and soft gestures late into the night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thought of the crown, the glistening golden accessory adorned by rare jewels that Techno still wore with a head held high. It was the embodiment of all he wanted—power, title, superiority, but more than anything, acknowledgment. It was a symbol that he was good, that he was better than anyone else, impossible to overshadow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A moth to the flames, an Icarus flying too close to the sun, people would call his fiery passion to be. But he didn’t care if he had to light a fire just to taste the heat. If it meant everyone would look up to him, if it meant that he would no longer be the invisible child whimpering in a corner, he didn’t care for how heavy that crown may be. It became his goal to be the best, to be king; and he would do anything, absolutely anything to reach his goal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But L’Manberg was not his. It wasn’t his ever since Techno took over, and certainly wasn’t his now, with Schlatt on the throne. King Techno… His brother was there to take everything from him, every single time, wasn’t he? The sibling that would, from as long as he could remember, dress like a king just to look cool, had everything he didn’t, was everything he wasn’t, yet he still took more. Scrapes of pride and accomplishment that Wilbur clutch in his fists can still be peeled away from him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So was it really that absurd, that impossible to believe, the length Wilbur would go just to have that crown placed in his hands? It didn’t matter if it was through poisoning his own father, through staining his fingers in blood and dragging them through the mud, or through sheer violence and war. No matter how villainous or insane he has to be, no matter how many lines he will have to cross and blur, no matter what he has to sacrifice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The end justifies the means. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, looking at the horizon to spot a black flag and torned walls, he reached for L’Manberg, for everything it represented (</span>
  <span><strike>freedom</strike>,</span>
  <span> power, power, power, </span>
  <em>acknowledgement</em>
  <span>), only for his fingers to grasp nothing but air. It was almost a cruel symbolism, telling him that there was nothing in the place where his everything used to be. Clutching his open hands into a fist, something in his eyes flickered and snapped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur smiled a crooked smile twisted by a hint of madness as he gestured to the wind, to the trees, to the world. Insanity coursed through his veins and infested his mind like poison. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Here is what they don’t tell you:</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Icarus laughed as he fell.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Threw his head back and</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>yelled into the winds,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>arms spread wide,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>teeth bared to the world.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(There is a bitter triumph in crashing when you should be soaring.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The wax scorched his skin,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>ran blazing trails down his back,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>his thighs, his ankles, his feet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Feathers floated like prayers</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>past his fingers,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>close enough to snatch back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Death breathed burning kisses</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>against his shoulders,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>where the wings joined the harness.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The sun painted everything</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>in shades of gold.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(There is a certain beauty in setting the world on fire and watching from the centre of the flames.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I can’t have L’Manberg…” Wilbur cried out to the woods around him as he narrowed his eyes at the nation he once loved with his soul and his mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“NO ONE CAN.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Wilbur held his head high as he strode away from the cliff top, his goal determined and his purpose set. He had never felt so certain about anything before. Every inch of his body itched for action, for chaos as adrenaline overrode common sense. There was no changing his mind, he hummed to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet everything changed when he found a figure in the corner of Pogtopia, searching through a chest. It was a pale man, the outline of his body blurred and looked as if it was dissolving into the air. But the blond strands of hair, the dark, slightly tattered wings and the soft long robe falling around his feet was undeniable. Wilbur felt his heart lift then drop, his mind split between freezing in place and running as far away as possible. No. Impossible. It can’t be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Phil?”<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
Wilbur managed to choke out. The pale man turned around, curious blue eyes twinkling as an innocent grin widened. Same voice. Same face. Same expressions. Wilbur couldn’t breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello mate, I’m Ghostza! Who are you?” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Imagine Techno and Wilbur’s duet to be like this: Violin &amp; Guitar Duo - "Hallelujah" | 3 West Productions. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=REZt9c6iluI </p><p>Guess who’s back? Philza! The endless angst material this bird man brings is too tempting to pass on, so he was brought back to life as a tiny tweak in history to replace Ghostbur. How do you think Tubbo and Tommy react to this?</p><p>If you enjoyed this chapter, leave a comment or feedback! Thank you for all the kudos and I’ll try to update as soon as I can!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>21. If Life Was Chess</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Power doesn't corrupt men; fools, however, if they get into a position of power, corrupt power” - George Bernard Shaw</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Sapnap’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slightly tanned skin shone a bronze colour underneath the sun as a white bandana tied around raven black hair flapped in the air. With the back of one hand Sapnap grazed the walls of the tunnel leading to the Community House, melancholy glistening in his eyes. He strolled slowly down the road, crouched underneath his shield with an axe in hand, netherite armour a mesmerizing purple. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap had been surprised to receive a note, one scribbled in a familiar, messy handwriting smeared and dotted with ink. It communicated one blunt message: meet at the community house and bring all the valuable resources he has with him. It was a simple instruction, one that raised many red flags. But the order was from Dream, and Dream was his friend. His best friend. Dream would never do anything bad to him, ever. (Right…?)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so slowly he walked down the Prime Path, eyeing the house that had been the first structure on the SMP, built by eight of the original members with laughs and jokes. He remembered messing around, remembered how it felt to goof around without overthinking everything. That elation he used to feel standing shoulder to shoulder with his friends, the excitement of waking up to another new day filled with adventures. That was all long in the past now, though. So much has changed, for the better or worse. A twitch of his sealed lips betrayed his thoughts, but he shook them away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap has always been the best friend in the world. He was loyal. He was unquestioningly supportive. He was trustworthy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was naive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the server was just created, Sapnap was happy. He messed around like anyone would with their closest buddies. He trolled around and played and snickered like a child in a park, running across fields of soft grass and beaming at the endless lands so filled with excitement and thrill. He felt so lucky, so fortunate, so genuinely glad to be alive, to be in this world, to be surrounded by his family in all but blood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When L’Manberg was first founded, Sapnap was supportive of his friends. He helped Dream, who seemed so troubled by the idea of a country, and assured him that they will be taken down. He aided Dream in every attack without ever questioning their motive or the righteousness of their action, following each and every order given to him dutifully. He fought for an ideal he didn’t fully believe in, spilled and stained the ground in a crimson mess all for the sake of their friendship.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Sapnap saw George on that throne, Sapnap was neither  jealous nor discontent. He felt only happy for his friend, for his promotion to king of the Dream SMP. He had a brief chat with George before turning to his masked ‘brother’. He asked where Eret, the previous king, had gone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he left.” Was all Dream said, and Sapnap believed those words wholeheartedly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Liar. Liar. Liar.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night after the Festival, he was stumbling away in a drunken haze to the Community House to crash there for the night when he smelled it. Born in a pit of flames, he had relinquished in the sudden sweet scent of burnt wood and smoke amidst the cold evening air. It drew him in and told him to follow, which he did. The wind was a hoarse whisper against the shell of his ears as he walked back up the Prime Path. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so he had trailed the scent all the way back to L’Manberg, and froze completely when he saw it. Shock had surged through his body, numbing him as explosions blew his ears apart, as a grand castle collapsed underneath waves of TNT, of shouts and cries from both the villains standing on the obsidian structure in the sky and the outcasts trembling on the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Festival was the first time in a long time since he had experienced something remotely close to the sincere happiness of the era Before Tommy. Watching the colourful banners be ripped and cast into the air as  scraps and pieces, watching the festive lanterns drift and fall onto the ground around him, it was like watching his world being torn away from him for the second time. It was like watching Dream’s signature wheeze be replaced by the fake smile of his porcelain mask, like watching the SMP that was his home by bathed in blood and tears, like watching laughter and friends be replaced by wars and chaos. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His blood had boiled hotter than a fiery sea as his clawed hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palm. He was just about to lunge pass the walls of L’Manberg when Dream appeared beside him and grabbed his wrist, stopping him. Together, without a word, they stood and did nothing that fateful night as L’Manberg collapsed in front of their eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least, Sapnap thought, he could and was still standing shoulder to shoulder with his best friend. At least he still has his friends by his side. At least that one constant hadn’t changed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When morning finally dawned that day, when the chaos calmed, when dust settled on a battered ruin of a country, Sapnap had croaked out. “What happened? What do you know?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No more than you do. It’s such a shock.” Dream had only said with a flat voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Liar. Liar.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinked back into the present. Right. Dream wanted them to meet up and exchange resources. Pushing open the door of the Community House, he was met face to face with the taunting smile marked across the white mask. Sapnap immediately jumped away, stumbling several steps back. “Woah! Hey Dream! What’s up!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream backed away as well, looking pleased at his arrival. Eagerly the masked man asked.  “Oh, not much. Did you bring it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I have a bunch of our spare netherite armour and weapons. You asked for gunpowder as well?” Sapnap looked down, scrolling through his inventory.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream clasped his hands together, and exclaimed cheerfully.“Excellent! Excellent, Sapnap. Yes, please hand all of that over in the chest. Thank you so much.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those words flattered Sapnap, brought a wave of warmth up his chest. And so without hesitation he dumped all the items into the chest Dream gestured and sat idly as he watched Dream look through them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap had heard things before, things that mortified him. Whispers, rumours. Hated words about his dear friend, who has always been so nice to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream has always been strange, people said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>People said when he wanted something, he risked anything to get his hands on it. People said that he only moved with self-interest, that he used his friends for power. That he never let people see his expression and he never showed his feelings. He must be a god that has no tears nor blood, people said. He must be a demon, a Dreamon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Dream those people knew was cruel, was merciless. The Dream they knew was evil, a mastermind behind the curtains of war, a puppeteer that controls and manipulates both his comrades and enemies. That twisted version of Dream didn’t blink when he kills, and was too good at taking care of things using violence, deception and trickery. To them, Dream was nothing but an intimidating smile on a porcelain mask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But those people did not know the same Dream he did. The Dream Sapnap knew from a childhood of scraped knees and ball games, the Dream that was silly and had a strange sense of humour, that wheezed like a tea kettle at the weirdest of jokes and was adventurous, was a leader in their group. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes Sapnap wishes others would see Dream the way he sees him. He wishes others would see the kind, goofy person underneath the glistening netherite armour, underneath the cold mask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Absentmindedly, Sapnap reached for Dream’s mask. His fingers almost reached the connector at the back of Dream’s head that strapped the mask in place when Dream violently flinched, smacking his hand away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you think you’re doing, Sapnap?” Dream narrowed his eyes, his tone instantly cold, as frigid as can be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap did not apologize. He only stared blankly into the eye sockets of the mask. “It’s been a long time since George and you and I played like we used to. You know, so carefree and just goofing around.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream looked away, going back to organizing the chest. “What l’Manberg has caused is no goofing around. A life was lost during Schlatt’s attack, and many others were injured. On the other hand, Schlatt and Quackity were neglected horribly in the dungeon, and from what I’ve heard, there was no intention of letting them out or letting them free, even though they’ve done nothing wrong.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream shut the chest and turned to held Sapnap’s glance firmly. “I’m trying to end this conflict, Sapnap, and get rid of both sides that initiated and suffered from this conflict. To do that, I need your help. You and George both. And I need l’Manberg </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that why you gave Schlatt the TNT?” Sapnap’s eyes stinged as he shouted out the words in a raspy voice. He couldn’t keep his calm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Dream lied. Dream lied to him, to his best friend. Dream was a liar.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did you-” A hint of panic leaked in Dream’s voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not dumb, you know. It’s not difficult to connect the dots. All that gunpowder and sand, all that TNT you carried with you to visit Schlatt, only to come back empty handed?” Sapnap pointed at the chest, “What are you doing with all that extra armour you don’t need? Are you going to help Pogtopia against Manberg? Then have them both destroyed at the same time?” Sapnap took a step forward, his hands on his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why, Dream? Why wouldn’t you just tell me your full plan? I’ve always been supportive. I’ve never been against you. I’m…” His voice cracked. It was hard not to choke on his emotions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m your best friend, Dream. Don’t you trust me?” His eyes searched desperately in that ceramic mask until he could finally meet Dream’s emerald green eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course I trust you! It’s just…” Dream paused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Liar. Excuses.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just too dangerous, Sapnap. I don’t want people to hurt you because you have information or something. I’ve made a lot of enemies, some that are powerful. Ignorance is bliss, sometimes.” Dream placed two firm hands on his shoulder, the gesture comforting, soothing.  Sapnap took a deep breath, his stiff shoulders relaxing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream grinned—though Sapnap couldn’t see it, he knew Dream was smiling just by the twitch of his neck. Before Sapnap could decipher if the smile was a sad, warm smile or a victorious and triumphant one, Dream cooed in a gentle voice before standing up, turning away. “I’m doing all of  this for us, Sapnap. This is all for the better.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Promise?” Sapnap stared at the ground, listening intently for Dream’s answer, for the hesitation, for a lack of conviction in his voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But there was none. There was only sincerity, a solid, confident reply. “Promise.” Dream looked at Sapnap one last time before gathering his things. Before Dream passed through the door he glanced back and added. “I would never lie to you, Sapnap.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Sapnap believed him. Because Dream was his best friend since childhood. Because Sapnap was and has always been loyal. Unquestioningly supportive. Trustworthy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because Sapnap was naive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something still told him Dream was lying—through bared teeth without hesitation, without doubt, without a blink of his eyes. Yet Sapnap bit his tongue and swallowed Dream’s sweet words—promises and acts done and said in the name of good and justice, of peace, of returning the world to what it once was. Invisible puppet strings tightened around him as he felt his faith falter, as a chess piece clicks into place.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Dream’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream’s eyes narrowed into slits as he glared at the captured pawns. twirls a chess figurine in his hands. He was back in his base, back in that room, back in front of his chess game. He didn’t bother flicking the lights on; Whilst deep in thought, he had always enjoyed the company of darkness and the sensation of a devil perching over his shoulder, of someone else that was also studying the chess board with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream has known many associates in his pursuit of power—allies were essential to his plans, even if they were just puppets—out of which only two men resonated with his ideology. Both men, just like Dream, flourished in the idea of control, of superiority, of having a throne and a crown. Both men were more than capable of sacrificing everything if it meant they would be rewarded victory. Both men believed that all means were justified by the end.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret. He was an ally unworthy of trust. A king whose loyalty was controlled by opportunity, a traitor who would backstab anyone to be on the winning side of history. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt. He was a comrade unworthy of a prolonged partnership. A president that was as ambitious as he was pompous and vain, an acquaintance whose cunning and irreverent nature.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both men were pawns that, in the end, failed Dream in different ways. They failed because they forgot what Dream will always remember. They forgot what gave them the very thing they sought. Power. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If respect is the only thing protecting you from a knife in the back, respect is nothing, right?” He had warned Eret. The stubborn man had ignored him, had believed naively in his friends, had blinded himself in ignorant nostalgia.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Power came from an axe and a shield. Power came from fear, came from absolute control, from leverages. It came from </span>
  <em>
    <span>attachments</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Things only have meaning when you give them meaning. People only have power when you let them have power over you, when you are vulnerable, when they have something you’re attached to. May that be plastic, inanimate objects, may that be a fluffy animal companion, may that be a nation and its ideology, may that be a best friend and a brother. With that thought, his eyes moved to an old pawn on the chess board.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap. Dream was alerted by his friend’s outburst today, during their brief exchange. He could hear the doubt in Sapnap’s cries, could see the traces of skepticism, the anger and hurt circling those dark eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dream knew Sapnap was loyal. But Sapnap’s accurate haunches about what Dream was going to do with the items alarmed him, as well as his friend’s increased suspicion. Perhaps this was a sign he had trusted Sapnap too much, then. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Memories flooded his vision for a moment. Memories of laughter, of golden afternoons spent chattering and goofing around in a land that was free and limitless. Of games and jokes and late nights with friends. Of Sapnap and George and all their adventures, all their time together, standing shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything the light touches is our kingdom. A king’s time as ruler rises and falls like the sun. One day, the sun will set on my time here, and will rise with you as the new king.” He has once told George. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both Eret and Schlatt wanted to be king. Both will or have already failed. Dream will not fail. Attachments are what make people weak, vulnerable. Attachments are what allowed Dream to have power over others, but without attachments no one will have power of Dream. Unlike two other foolish men, Dream would never let him forget this fact.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadette McAlisky once said that to gain that which is worth having, it may be necessary to lose everything else. If Dream wanted to have power, wanted to be king, he could not allow himself to be vulnerable. If Sapnap… if their friendship was just another puppet string, another tie of attachment he needed to cut, if that’s what it took to get rid of all vulnerabilities, to be powerful, then so be it. He will not hesitate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Picking up the chess piece that represented his best friend from childhood, he gently rubbed the roughly carved hair strapped with a white bandana before setting it down firmly, decisively. Pushing the chair back and exiting his base, his mind was set as the sun shone through his mask and into his emerald eyes. At all cost, Sapnap will not be let know about Dream’s plans. Sapnap will not be let know about Dream’s motives, Dream’s goals. Sapnap was unworthy of the truth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was for the best. A puppet is, after all,  free as long as it can’t see its strings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked to the horizon and thought of the plans he knew by heart. He already knew where Pogtopia was, but he also knew how anger will fade with time. He was playing a dangerous game, trying to run with the hares and hunt with the hounds. He had to be cautious. Patient. Time was currency but if he made a wrong move, say the wrong words, if he found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, all his planning and all that he had worked up till now will be for nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has what Pogtopia needed. Especially after what he heard when Techno set up Philza’s grave, it was now confirmed that vengeance and, translating it to action, a revolution was indeed what Schlatt has riled up with his overthrow. That meant Pogtopia needed items, armour and weapons, potions and allies. They needed it fast if they wanted to escape the pitiful ravine they now reside in as soon as possible. They needed Dream.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So what would be the chances of them saying no if Dream just strolled up to their home and presented both material wealth and information, an offer they are in no place to or could possibly reject? Little to none. It was a predetermined success, achieving allyship with those who had treated him rather bitterly before. Whatever grudge they might have held from their little history with Dream, surely Philza’s death and being chased out was more than enough to distract them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Humming cheerful as he walked down the Prime Path, Dream decided to wait just a little longer. Let the desperate get more desperate and let the helpless feel more helpless. He did not wish to be in the path of a certain someone’s wrath if anger did blow up into some regrettable action. All he wanted was to swoop in with a pair of angel wings and fulfill needs as if he descended from heaven. To have the trust of both sides, however obscur the trust may be and however slowly it will grow, was still nevertheless a leverage to good to pass on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wanted both sides to destroy themselves in conflict, or at least weaken substantially. Drag one another down until Dream could just pinch them into oblivion with one finger like how one would get rid of a small pest. Then, the Dream SMP would return to how it was always meant to be. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His</span>
  </em>
  <span> SMP, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>server, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>kingdom, would return to what it once was, a sanctuary for a group of friends to laugh and play. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It mattered little what anyone else thought. Dream will make it that way and will keep it that way, at whatever the cost.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A familiar figure suddenly approached him, in uniform and with a stoic face. Dream smiled a crooked smirk as he eyed the pawn in front of him up and down.  The little push-over, the right-hand man of both a childish hassle and an arrogant tyrant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream clasped his hands together and greeted in a mocking tone. “Ah, Tubbo. We haven’t had a chance to speak in private since our last… discussion yet, right? Oh so much as happened </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Congratulations. You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo’s eyes instantly narrowed with anger, teeth gritted and fists curled by his side. “How did I get what I wanted? L’Manberg is still at war!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“L</span>
  <em>
    <span>’</span>
  </em>
  <span>Manberg is not at war. Do you see any fighting around here?” Dream gestured around him, at the soft grass and hazy swaying of branches in gentle breezes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You and I both know there will be war, and it’s all because of you!” Tubbo looked behind him before shouting, the boy’s indignation radiating off him and tainting the atmosphere around them. Dream, however, stood his ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, that will be more like a revolution, if you ask me. An interior war that L’Manberg is having with itself. This is not a war against me or the Dream SMP, wouldn’t you agree?” Dream’s grin widened as he said in a singsong voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked behind Tubbo, at the ruins of walls, at the new flag of a country called Manberg. What a silly name that was, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Manberg</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Beside in front of Schlatt, Dream will never call that country Manberg. It was L’Manberg, with the L. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You- I should’ve never told you anything!” Tubbo throttled a glare at him as if they were daggers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy threw his arms to his side, stumping a foot on the ground like a child. Frustration was evident, though Dream was only amused at the other’s every reaction, so much so that he almost laughed. “Oh, but you did tell me, didn’t you? You told me so many things. So many things that I now know that you are a double-agent, and is planning to visit Pogtopia in their little base!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And frustration turned into panic, then fear. Watching the expressions change was like watching an animation, each frame uniquely expressed with furrowed brows and widened eyes. Tubbo took a step back, hissing. “You wouldn’t. If you tell Schlatt about this then I will tell Technoblade and Tommy your involvement with the Night after the Festival! You have part to blame as well for what happened, and Techno will make you pay for it!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was no light threat, but Dream was prepared. “But how are you going to tell them about my involvement without also telling them about </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> involvement? How will you tell them how you knew everything without also letting them know that you are a </span>
  <em>
    <span>traitor</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Tubbo fell silent, with a mouth half-open and eyes wide, with arms shaking in regret and frustration as he stared at the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As awfully dangerous as was the game Dream was playing, he was winning. Before Dream slid past the boy and continued down the prime path to leave Tubbo there to relinquish in his own misery, he cooed in a taunting whisper in the ears of the pawn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Checkmate.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the long wait guys! Next chapter, which I’m going to go write right now, will have more Ghostza in it since I think some of you are looking forward to that.</p><p>Also, most of you probably know Wilbur got revived in the canon Dream SMP lore just recently. You know how Wilbur described limbo to be a train track? What do you think Philza’s limbo would look like...? ;)</p><p>As always, I would love comments and feedback! Thank you for reading and I’ll update soon! (Hopefully...)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>22. A Ghost of the Past, A Dream of the Future</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“History is like ghost. It is as dead as alive.” - Kedar Joshi</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Ghostza’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His pale hands had gripped the cold iron bars to, with effort, steady himself as the cage shook violently. With another blink, Ghostza had found a new figure on the floor, with tattered clothing and battered wings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi mate. How ya doing? How strange...I’ve never seen anyone else in here but me.” Ghostza had walked over and, curiously, poked the trembling figure. They had flinched, immediately jumping back and looking up at him with alertness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could now see the figure’s face. A heavy chest heaved for gasps of breath as pearls of sweat slid down the newcomer’s chin. Blue, tired eyes lined with age and blond hair stained with dust and a scent of smoke. Something about this winged man was familiar, though Ghostza hadn’t been able to put a finger on it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” The voice had sounded similar to his own, except it was a little rougher, a little hoarse, a little more alarmed. “Where am I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m Ghostza, and this is limbo.” Ghostza had gestured around them. They appeared to be in a bird cage. Outside the golden bars which surrounded them, there was a blank, almost terrifying emptiness that was the void. A small door to the cage was locked from the outside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghostza had continued. “I hear this is where people go when they die but I wouldn’t know, I’ve never died. At least, I don’t think I did. I don’t…” He paused, thinking hard. His mind was as staggeringly blank as the oblivion around them. “...I don’t really remember.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Limbo? Did I-” The man had rubbed his eyes, chuckling humorlessly as he mumbled to himself. “Oh sh*t. I really did die, didn’t I? Holy sh*t. Oh boy… Ohhhhh Techno’s gonna be so mad. Oh I really f*cked up this time...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghostza had furrowed his brows in slight concern. “Everyone has their own personal limbo, so it’s just been me here for a long time but…but it’s not that bad here! Plenty of room to… to fly around and stuff.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This had caught the man’s attention. “Flying?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yah! You can fly, can you not? You have wings too.” Ghostbur had pointed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“These?” The man had extended his wings fully and Ghostza had gasped, holding a hand over his mouth as to be polite. The jagged edges, the ripped, twisted feathers, the torn, roughened plumes. Those wings were far worse than just shabby; they were completely broken. Ghostza’s own wings had shuddered at the mere sight while the other only shook his head sadly. “I gave up flying a long time ago.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghostza had scratched his head. “Well, that certainly does make things less appealing around here. Flying is like one of the best things...the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing you can do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure I am really dead? I have a lot of things left undone. A lot of words left unsaid. A lot of people that I need to take care of.” The man had stood up and wobbled to the edge of the cage. He had clutched the bars and slid his arm through the middle, his hand grasping at the air. “What if I found a way to leave and…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghostza had only raised an eyebrow.“I’m pretty sure you’re as dead as a doornail, pal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t understand!” The man had throttled those words at him in frustration. Ghostza had took a step back, holding his hands out in front of him as the other continued to shout. “Will, Tommy, Techno. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> me. They… What if Techno has trouble with the Voices again? What if Tommy gets in a fight with Will and needs someone to break it up? What if they are in trouble? Injured? Who will be there to help them now that- now that I’m dead?” The man turned back to what was outside the cage. “I can’t be here. I have to leave. I have to go to them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t. Trust me, I’ve tried. I’ve been here for longer than you have. I’ve tried everything. Save some energy. Have some yellow and relax yourself.” Ghostza had tossed a handful of yellow dye to the man before turning around and stretching his wings. Bored already with the arrival of this new figure, with a quick flap and a cloud of dust he dove upward, grazing against the top of the cage before gliding down slowly, circling the newcomer. Feeling the breeze whistle against his ears he hummed to himself as he flew, doing flips and spins to entertain himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time was meaningless in the limbo, but still one could feel its passage. A long time later Ghostza’s feet had touched the ground again and he went to check on the man, who had sat down leaning against the bars. “What’s your name, by the way?” Ghostza asked, crouching down beside him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Philza.” The man had mumbled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cool! That sounds kinda like my name.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil had gave him a sideway glance, as if slightly annoyed. “You know, you look exactly like me except just more...saturated. Pale.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghostza had shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. There’s no mirrors here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence had settled after that and stayed for a while until Ghostza spoke again. “Why did you give up flying?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a pause. Philza had turned around, sitting up. “Have you flown outside of this cage? Like, in the sky?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghostza had shook his head. Phil frowned but continued. “Well, it’s a lot like flying normally except in a much bigger, seemingly endless space. It feels great, at first.” Ghostbur tried to imagine flying in the limitless blueness of the sky, underneath the sun and the stars. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then, as days and months and years pass by, it feels cold. It felt bitterly lonely, in the sky, all by myself. I grew tired of it. So very tired. Bored, too. I loved my wings and I loved flying but… but I decided that, compared to using my wings to greet the frigid air, I would rather use them to hug and shield balls of warmth and life.” Philza had gazed at him, blue eyes meeting blue eyes. “I decided that, more than freedom of mobility, I would rather become a father.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghostza had stared back at him blankly. He couldn’t think of anything that he would trade for for his wings. Philza shook his head, looking away. “But I bet you don’t understand that, do you? You, who is basically me in name and appearance but with no memories, no wisdom from all that I’ve seen and felt and lived through?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not you, I’m Ghostza.” Ghostza had said firmly as he crossed his arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then Phil was gone, and so was the cage. Ghostza didn’t remember how, didn’t remember when, but the next second he was sitting in the debris of what seemed to be a part of a castle. Instinctively he had flapped his wings and with a strong stroke, pushed himself upwards into the sky. With no idea of how and why he was here, in the next weeks he wandered aimlessly about in what slowly registered to him was the mortal world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembered this gnawing sensation of emptiness that tore at his chest and throat, that clawed at his heart and soul. He remembered this suffocating weight of obligation against his chest, a sense of purpose, of seeking fulfillment. He remembered this strange feeling of something missing that was supposed to dangle from his neck. A necklace, perhaps.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembered the coldness of the nights. He could not feel it on a physical level as a ghost but he could feel it just as intensely. So biting was the wind, so frigid was solitude. It was just like how Phi- what was that man’s name again? (He can’t remember; it lingered at just the fringes of his memories) — just like how that stranger in that cage described. The sunrise was as lonely as it was beautiful as he would sit there and watch another day start. Another day of traversing through foreign land, of peeking through buildings and strolling down paths that led him to nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was trying to find something, he knew. But that was all he knew. Not a clue, not a hint, not anything that told him where to find it, how to find it, what it even was.  He traversed past rivers that meandered gently through meadows, past structures that resembled castles and cloths that resembled flags, past portals that sent him to a land that looked just like hell then back to the over world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And now, he stumbled into a ravine, except there was someone there. A young man, his cheeks smudged by mud and his hair a wild mess. Finally, someone who can help him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghostza greeted excitedly, careful to make a good first impression. “Hello mate, I’m Ghostza! Who are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man had turned pale. With widened brown eyes and mouth half open he seemed to have frozen completely as Ghostza waved a hand across his face. “What’s wrong pal? You look like you saw a ghost!” Ghostza said, chuckling slightly at his own joke as he floated around the man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hurried footsteps sounded down a nearby corridor, and soon enough a voice called out as a blond boy raced down the narrow path. “Wilbur there you are! I’ve been searching everywhere for you and- WHAT THE ACTUAL F*CK.” The boy halted, stared at Ghostza with furrowed brows before pointing, shouting into the ears of the dark-haired man beside him. “Will, am I seeing sh*t?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghostza laughed. “Pff- Hello, I’m Ghostza. No, fortunately you’re not seeing sh*t, I am a ghost. I think your friend here is shocked for that reason.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha- my ‘friend’...? Phil do you not remember anything?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Phil’. Why do they call him that? Ignoring it temporarily Ghostza raised an eyebrow and asked nonchalantly. “What is there to remember?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay uhhhh… Let’s see...” The blond boy paced around, stroking his chin with furrowed brows before turning back to Ghostza and putting two hands on the ghost’s shoulders. “Let me test something, okay Ghostza? What’s my name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghostza stared hard. The blond curls, the blue eyes, the loud voice with a tinge of British accent, the red and white T-shirt. Nothing. His mind was blank. “I- I just met you, how would I know your name-” Tommy took a step back, his arms falling to his side and his face looking troubled with a hint of disappointment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The older man in the long brown trench coat who has been silent the entire time spoke suddenly. “What’s my name, Phil? Do you remember-” His voice cracked, “do you remember my name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It sounded like a plea, like the man was begging for Ghostza to remember. His voice was familiar—</span>
  <em>
    <span>so much softer was his singing voice that echoed down the halls accompanied by gentle strokes of guitar. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His face was familiar too—</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh how quickly that face used to brighten when Phil mentioned his name.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A scene flooded Ghostza’s mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A dark-haired boy pulled on his robes and led him into the kitchen. With glistening eyes and a wide smile he played a simple song on his guitar, small hands struggling to reach each note fast enough. The tune was an old song Philza liked to hum, and Phil was pleasantly surprised to find that the boy had memorized the melody. He was about to compliment the boy when a loud crash sounded upstairs and he hurried over. A blond boy was whimpering in one corner as a pink-haired boy with stretched claws and crimson eyes stood like a predator pouncing on a prey. Quickly Phil calmed both of them down, whispering gently to them and stroking both boys’ wet cheeks. So busy Phil was that he didn’t see the tears fall from the brown-haired boy behind him before that boy dashed out of the house and threw the guitar in the snow, threatening to break it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghostza shut his eyes, rubbing them but the images didn’t end. It started accelerating, flickering through different moments of time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The same boy grew up and taller, his hair grew longer and was often underneath a beanie, his eyes often cheerlessly now and his smile rarely seen in front of Phil. Then, he announced he was moving out. Phil’s voice had broke painfully when he forced himself to accept the news, to watch as his son disappear at the horizon without a look back, to rejoice at each letter which came less than monthly. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Memories that weren't his poured into Ghostza’s mind. A splitting headache was blurring his senses as his vision flickered to a future he hasn’t lived through. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dawn of 16th, Philza came to the country his son told him he had founded and built out of nothing. The country that was the boy’s everything, the country of which he has devoted his heart and soul. He found his son in a room with a button, found himself listening to the boy ramble and complain like how he used to about school, about his siblings. Except this time his son wasn’t talking about the spar he lost, not about the teacher who was too strict for his liking, not about the cookie which his brother stole from right under his nose. He was talking about blowing up his own country. The first time in over a decade that they have spoken face to face, and it was to say goodbye. ‘Kill me Phil!’ The boy shouted with a hoarse voice and a bloody smile as everything blew up around them, as Philza’s world fell apart, as Wilbur died in his arms by his sword. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ghostza’s eyes widened. He stared at the man in front of him and he saw that same boy, the boy with the guitar and the country, the boy that tried so hard to impress his father.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur.” Ghostza stammered. “Y-your name. It’s Wilbur. You’re Wilbur.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s eyes lit up, a grin stretching across the soiled face. “Yes! You do remember! Take that Tommy!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blond boy, Tommy, pouted behind him. “What? How come you remember Will but not me? That’s not…” Tommy’s voice immediately lowered into a muffled mumble that Ghostza barely grasped. “That’s not how it worked with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghostbur</span>
  </em>
  <span> though…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghostza sensed light footsteps approaching them. Alerted, he spread his wings to prepare to shield Wilbur and Tommy, if it came to that. “I decided that, compared to using my wings to greet the frigid air, I would rather use them to hug and shield balls of warmth and life.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Philza</span>
  </em>
  <span> had said to him in that strange birdcage.  Ghostza hadn’t understood what the man meant, back then. But now he did. No longer did he feel the cold hollowness he felt when he first woke up in the mortal world and the absence of something on his chest. Perhaps he has found what he was looking for. Perhaps Wilbur and Tommy—though he has just met them, something about the two already made him feel at home—was why he was here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who are you talking to?” A voice asked. All three of them turned. Ghostza eyes widened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the pink-haired boy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Wilbur’s P.O.V</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Techno. Wilbur feels his eyes narrow and his grin disappear. His rejoice that Phil had remembered his name over Tommy’s vanished, and a fear of that spotlight which was so rarely given to him robbed away once more tightened his hands. He didn’t need to feel jealous, the same jealousy that flares everytime he sees Phil smiling, everytime he sees him laugh at no one else but his </span>
  <em>
    <span>favourite </span>
  </em>
  <span>son. He didn’t need to feel that helpless frustration again, its licks of flame and its hot touches reddening his face. He didn’t need to relive that sensation of inadequacy touring his confidence and esteem apart until he was empty, hollow of meaning, of fulfillment. No. He will not let it happen all over again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so he bit his lips and didn’t answer Techno’s question. To his dismay, the small gremlin child ruined it all. “It’s Phil, Techno. What, can you not see him? He’s right there.” Tommy said, pointing at the pale ghost.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a pause. Wilbur’s eyes broadened as he watched Techno stiffened completely at the mere mention of Phil’s name. He watched as the calmness in his brother’s face flickered, as the hands curled together, as the teeth clenched tighter, as the arms trembled slightly. “Phil…? Phil is dead.” Techno said, his voice cracking a little. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy took a step forward, “You can’t see Ghostza, Techno?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ghostza?” Techno unsheathed his netherite blade. Ghostza, alarmed, got into a fighting stance behind them. With a pearl of sweat that slid down Tommy’s cheeks, the atmosphere changed and a heavy, suffocating tension shrouded the ravine. Techno fixed a pair of crimson eyes—eyes clouded by a turmoil of darkness—on Wilbur and hissed. “ Is this a cruel joke.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a question. The words were humourless, lifeless. Never have Wilbur seen the other be so serious, radiating a silent gloom that could be sensed from miles away. It was so very different from the lighthearted, teasing quips that Techno was known for that it was terrifying. A hint of panic and fear flashed across Tommy’s face, but Wilbur stood his ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grasping the opportunity, not skipping a beat, he said, “I-it was a joke, Techno. Tommy, I told you that was an insensitive prank! That wasn’t funny at all.” He turned to the child, who now only looked confused, in a scolding voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another moment of silence. Techno put away his sword and Ghostza relaxed. “Well, I’m gonna go gather more resources now.” Techno said in a softer voice, as if realizing how harsh he sounded previously, before turning his heels and leaving. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy waited for the shadow to completely disappear before yelling. “What was that? What prank? Why didn’t you tell Techno about Phil- about Ghostza? The pigman’s been a prick ever since Phil died and I thought that this news would-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Listen Tommy, let’s talk somewhere more private.“ Wilbur interrupted, not wanting Ghostza, who was still standing between them and listening intently, to hear anything more. Telling Ghostza to stay before grabbing Tommy by the wrist and dragging the blond boy into a nearby hall, Wilbur stared intensely into Tommy’s blue eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has had enough of everything being about Techno. In one way his pink-haired sibling was the humorous nerd that was somehow equally good at sparring, and in another he has always been that unreachable goal overshadowing everything Wilbur’s done. Either way, he was done feeling that way. Everytime, all everyone ever saw was Techno. It’s time that things be about Wilbur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A lie was weaved right out of his teeth as Wilbur tried to convince the child in front of him. He can’t have Tommy tattletaling to Techno or Ghostza in Wilbur’s absence. “From that interaction we can assume that apparently Techno, can’t actually see Ghostza for some reason, right? So what’s the point of explaining to Technoblade? He probably won’t believe us and even if he did, it sort of doesn’t matter that Ghostza exist if Techno can never see, hear or touch him, right? It… it won’t do anything. It will just remind Techno of Phil’s death which, evidently, gets him in a bad mood. Just- just don’t mention it, okay? Trust me on this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If neither is ever aware of each other’s existence, if Ghostza never remembers Techno and Techno never hears about Ghostza, then history can’t possibly repeat itself. It was a flawless plan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy gazed into his eyes, doubt circling the child’s sapphire pupils. Wilbur gave him a weak smile and Tommy looked away. “What are you going to tell Ghostza, then?” Tommy asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur could tell Phil that he was his only child. That way, no one else but him can stand underneath the soft touches of the spotlight. A smirk widened at the thought but Wilbur kept his face straight. “I’ll deal with that. Don’t worry about it. Now go let Ghostza settle in and I’ll see what Techno’s up to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy hesitated before nodding and leaving the hallway. Wilbur watched as the boy’s figure receded into the shadows before climbing up the stairs to where Techno headed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he could reach the light of the surface he heard Techno say, “You are not to be trusted completely. There’s no way they got all that resources without outside interference.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Freezing in place, Wilbur crouched down to the floor and eavesdropped in curiosity. Someone else’s voice, one that was slightly muffled, replied with playfulness. “You need allies right now Techno, not enemies. Plus, even if I am a foe, Sun Tzu said keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer, no?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was followed by silence. “Fine.” Techno eventually decided, crossing his arms. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other smiled. “I’m sure Wilbur will want to be part of this as well, don’t you think? Should we tell him to come out?” Wilbur’s heart dropped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno shrugged nonchalantly. “I was going to see how long he’s gonna hide there in such an obvious and awkward spot. Can’t be good for his back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly Wilbur climbed out. He was instantly hit with the blazing sunlight and had to put a hand over his eyes to block it. Underneath the blinding light he could make out Techno, who stood under a tree, and someone else…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s good to see you alive and well, Wilbur.” An expressionless smile on a featureless mask flashed a taunting grin at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Dream.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Found a quote that’s quite suiting. Bill Cosby once said that “The past is a GHOST, the future a DREAM. All we ever have is now.” </p><p>Anyhow I have a bit of a lot to say in this note, mainly about Ghostza! Obviously, the whole bird cage thing was a reference to Birdza but also a literal symbolism of Phil’s limbo being a prison or a cage. He is very much trapped, just like how dead!Wilbur was in the train station. Wilbur said everyone have their own personal limbo, but Ghostbur somehow shared a limbo with Wilbur and replaced him when Wilbur left. </p><p>Ghostbur never talked about a train station or limbo or anything like that, so Ghostza didn’t remember how or why he got out of the limbo/bird cage either. However, if anyone asked, I imagine the person that revives Philza will have a key that will unlock the gate to the bird cage. Then Philza will have to physical fly past the border to the mortal world. </p><p>Just as a fun challenge for anyone interested, what do you guys think a limbo for Tommy will be like? Since he is the only other person that got revived. I suggest symbolizing how limbo is a prison for the dead and how reviving/freeing the dead would look like figuratively and literally.</p><p>Thank you guys for all the kudos and support!  I always read the comments and reply when I can so consider doing so! Will update soon and hopefully 10k hits by next chapter? :O</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Before anyone ask why Tommy and Tubbo need to risk everything they have after they literally won the war with Dream: you know, for plot ;3</p><p>I’m still new to writing Dream SMP fanfic, so any feedback and comments would be greatly appreciated, so please do so! Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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